


The Owl, The Wizard and The Cupboard Under the Stairs

by Deevi0us



Series: HP13 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deevi0us/pseuds/Deevi0us
Summary: Harry had always suspected he was different. Little did he realise how correct he was.Intended to be OOC, basically a re-imagining of the Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
Series: HP13 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846339
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Rough Start

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter or anything like that.  
> Main events remain unchanged, however the history, and reasons behind the main events isn't always the same. Personalities are also quite different, even though it makes sense when one considers the characters' habits and quirks.

_Change was coming. Where this change had come from was anyone’s guess. Change dwelled in the nightmares of the old and the fears of the young. Change had a name which none dared speak, lest the change happen to them._  
The war had gone on for some time, the first intra-species war in centuries. Maybe it had been a long time coming, maybe not, but for most that fought, peace was merely a distant memory. Walking into one’s house expecting to find one’s family dead, or worse, had become less of paranoia and more of a habit.  
Change had name, some called him Tom, some called him Voldemort and some called him He Who Must not Be Named, because if there was one thing that wizards knew, it was that names had power.

_And in times like these, power was to be feared._

Harry felt the spit ball bounce off the back of his neck. He hadn’t been counting but he thought this may have been the fourth one to actually hit him. The others had missed narrowly or even widely, hitting the girl sitting next to him, annoying her more than Harry.

He had just finished a tedious test and was waiting for the teacher to let them leave. Glancing at the clock he felt slightly nervous. His cousin Dudley hadn’t tried anything that day, no dunking his head in the toilet, no getting punched or kicked around and besides for the spit balls he had been having a rather good day, which either meant that Dudley had been replaced by a more pleasant lookalike or this was just the calm before the storm. Harry knew which was more likely.

Glancing back, Harry realised that the spit balls weren’t even coming from Dudley, just one of his friends, at least he might have been Dudley’s friend, and the spit balls were a good sign but not a proof ultimately. When Harry looked over at Dudley he actually seemed pretty docile just flicking boogers at the girl in front of him.

Staring at the clock didn’t make Harry feel any better. A watched pot never boiled, especially when said metaphorical pot was the pivotal point in whether one would be having a good day. Time seemed to have slowed, the clock’s hands trudging on sluggishly as if moving through sand. Thankfully class would be over soon, then school, and summer holidays would start, giving Harry ample time to relax while locked in his room. At least while he was locked in Dudley couldn’t come after him.

Finally it was the last minute, fifty nine seconds until freedom, until at least a relatively clean ending when a knock came on the door. The knocker didn’t wait for a response, opening the door to reveal herself. A large woman, Mrs. Polkiss was intimidating to say the least. She probably had to be to run a school. She contrasted her son, Piers, who was a thin stickly boy who dreamed about being able to intimidate anything worth intimidating.

“Is Mr. Harry Potter here?” she asked Harry’s maths teacher who only seemed to notice her presence right at that moment.

He pointed out Harry who had started feeling a heavy sense of dread and was already putting his things away in preparation of what was to come.

She looked to Harry and barked, “Come,” before turning and walking out of the classroom.

Harry followed soon after, glancing back to see a confused smirk on Dudley’s face. For once it didn’t look like whatever was happening had anything to do with him. Still it probably gave him pleasure to see Harry squirm.

Leaving the classroom Harry was surprised to be met by both Mrs. Polkiss and a young woman that Harry had definitely never seen before who smiled at Harry upon seeing him and gave him an almost familiar nod. After the door closed behind him the young woman thrust her hand out to Harry to shake.

“Harry, I presume. Amanda Cartwright, nice to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand gingerly.

She opened her mouth to say something else but was cut off by a grunt from Mrs. Polkiss. “Let’s do this in my office, Mandy,” she said quickly. “No use in dawdling.”

Amanda sent her a glance and turned back to Harry with a forced smile on her face. “Of course not. Lead the way.”

The way the two women spoke showed a side of Mrs. Polkiss that Harry hadn’t seen before. They were clearly old friends although there was no accounting for the age gap, Mrs. Polkiss couldn’t have been a day younger than forty five but Amanda seemed to be in her late twenties at most. It was an odd thought that Mrs. Polkiss could actually possess some form of humanity inside of her. They probably knew each other from the teacher’s union or something.

Harry followed a few steps behind, practicing his penitent face for whatever it was that he was going to be accused of. They never believed him when he denied the act, so he’d decided that looking regretful was most likely better than getting angry at the accusing teacher. Bad things happened when Harry was angry.

Finally in an office that Harry was far too familiar with, Harry took his usual seat and waited to hear about his latest exploits. Amanda pulled up a seat in front of Harry and picked up a clipboard, flipping through a small pile of papers before finding what she was looking for.

“Harry Potter, yes? Your guardians are the Dursleys?” she asked, reading through the paper.

Harry nodded, slowly, wondering what was going on. Was he getting arrested?

“How would you describe your expectations for next year?”

Harry scratched his head, puzzled by the odd questions. “I don’t know really, my grades are pretty good. I’m not sure I understand the question,” he said, trying to prompt an explanation.

“And would you say your experience in school has been what you would call regular?”

Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I suppose. Why are you. . .?”

Sighing, she flipped the papers on the clipboard closed and placed it back on the table, facing Harry with a more serious expression. “Mr. Potter, as of this afternoon you are no longer part of this school, are you aware of this?”

Harry blinked a few times, not quite understanding. “Excuse me. Could you please repeat that?”

“You’ve been expelled Harry,” she said. “I’m sure this isn’t coming as a surprise.”

Harry shook his head. “What? Why?”

Picking up the clipboard again, Amanda started flipping pages until finding what she had been looking for. “You’ve had an interesting time here, to say the least. I could list them all but I think we’ll just mention the most memorable. Let’s see, there was the toilet explosion a few months ago, slashing the tires on the entire faculty’s cars, the graffiti that took almost a year to scrub out of the walls, the herd of goats,” placing the clipboard on her lap and started twirling a lock of hair that had fallen in her face. “I could go on, but I think you get the point. Frankly I’m surprised you lasted this long.”

Harry grimaced, I don’t know what you’re talking about. None of that was me,” he said, raising his voice as he stood from his chair. “You have no proof.”

“Calm down Mr. Potter,” she countered softly. “While there is a lack of physical evidence the sheer amount of eyewitness accounts has told the school board enough. For the sake of the students’ and faculty’s safety we have decided it would be better for you to leave. Arrangements have already been made for you to attend a more,” she paused for a moment, then winked at Harry in amusement. “. . .tolerable environment.”

Harry could feel the anger rising up out of him. “You’re protecting them? I’m the one that needs protecting. Do your papers say anything about the amount of bullying that goes on here?” Harry shouted. As his voice rose in intensity the lights in the office began to flicker distracting him momentarily.

“Truth be told Mr. Potter, we have heard several accounts from most of your teachers that you’re a very talented liar and will say anything to get yourself out of trouble,” she said, ignoring him again.

Harry saw red. Who was this woman throwing accusations at him like it was going out of season? Why now? And what was with the light fixtures in this place?

Realising he had lost this battle, Harry sat down again and lowered his eyes. “So. . .what. . .you’re just going to ship me off to some prison?” he asked, sitting back and brushing the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead.

Amanda’s eyes widened, although she tried to hide it, when they alighted on his forehead. Harry was used to the reaction; after all, not many people his age had a scar in the dead centre of their foreheads in the shape of a lightning bolt. There was a reason Harry grew his hair long. Amanda, however, didn’t react like most people with horror or pity, but rather with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a prison, Mr. Potter, in fact I think you’ll rather enjoy it. Besides, that scar will no doubt make you somewhat popular,” she finished jokingly.

Harry scowled.

Mrs. Polkiss finally said something for the first time during the entire conversation, Harry was surprised she had managed to stay quiet for so long, “Now that we’ve sorted that out you can run along now. I don’t want to see your filthy face here ever again, freak,” she finished with a satisfied smile.

Harry’s previously calm countenance suffered its last straw and the back broke. He clenched his fists, ready to throw himself at Mrs. Polkiss when the sound of her screams broke him out of his angry haze. Coming back into focus Harry’s vision was met with a darkened version of the office with the small difference that the entire room was coated in shattered glass. Apparently the light bulb above Harry’s head shattered, followed by all the other lights in the room until even the old PC on Mrs. Polkiss’ desk was smoking in the darkened room. Mrs. Polkiss screamed for almost the entire ordeal but Amanda seemed oddly calm and collected. Once the last of the screaming had fizzled out Amanda stood up from her seat, brushing the glass off her dress and dropping her clipboard onto the table which was also covered in shards.

“This has been lovely, hasn’t it? Don’t worry about a thing Mr. Potter, we’ll contact you. Good day,” she finished cheerfully and stepped out.

Glancing at Mrs. Polkiss who seemed to still be in shock, Harry thought it was probably best to get out while he was still able. Standing quickly he almost fell onto the table in exhaustion. When had he gotten so tired? Before he turned to leave something odd caught his eye once again making him question the series of events. It was entirely possible that in Harry’s angry state Amanda had taken the papers off but why would she just leave the clipboard behind with only one blank sheet of paper?

As Harry ran he could hear angry screams behind him from Mrs. Polkiss, she had apparently recovered her wits. If there was one good thing about today it was that he would never have to see Mrs. Polkiss again or her office’s faulty wiring. Taking a glance back at the school Harry suddenly realized that summer holidays had begun. With that depressing insight Harry trudged home, his lift, having already left.

Harry hoped against hope that this was the worst his summer holiday could bring. Little did he realise that the small meeting had only been the beginning.


	2. The Beginning

Summer started with a bang, this being the sound his bedroom door made when Aunt Petunia slammed and locked it. They didn’t trust him anymore, not after things had started going missing at night. While he had been taking some small essentials, he wasn’t quite sure where Petunia’s fake Ming vase had gone but unless he could find it his protests would fall on deaf ears.

Ordinarily such a breach of his freedom would have left him mortified, although it was only from late night until early morning the lack of trust left Harry more hurt than the actual punishment. He shouldn’t have been surprised though, the Dursleys blamed him for a lot of things that weren’t his fault, but everybody did that, no harm done.

The reason the thought of being locked in his room didn’t worry him so much is because he was able to get out with ease. Due to a lack of friends or public support in school, Harry had taken to spending most of his time in the library where no self respecting bully would enter without being held at gunpoint. It was only in his breaks that Harry had found his solace and sometimes not even. If not for the library, Harry’s life would have been far worse. Of course, spending large amounts of time in a quiet room piled with books wasn’t very entertaining, not unless one was reading, so from the age of eight, Harry became somewhat of a bookworm. In five years Harry had found that books could help a person out of most problems, besides for being entertaining reads.

Almost thirteen year old Harry had little to no problem picking the lock on his bedroom’s door, it wasn’t like they built broom closets for maximum security imprisonment. Cracking the door open slowly Harry waited to make sure there was no reaction before swinging the door wide, looking both ways and pushing himself into the darkened hallway. Checking the clock on the wall Harry calculated he had a good four hours of tomfoolery before he would need to get back into his room. Plenty of time.

As soon as holidays hit Harry became nocturnal, Harry guessed that did kind of make him a freak as Mrs. Polkiss had put so politely. The word had struck a nerve more than it should have. Uncle Vernon liked to call him ‘freak’ when strange things happened, it was one of those times that Harry’s uncle truly expressed his displeasure at housing Harry. Something similar to hatred wavered in Vernon’s eyes whenever he said the word. Harry didn’t like being hated, Harry could understand bullying, he couldn’t understand hatred.

Obviously Harry’s uncle was, for the most part, neutral to Harry’s presence, just like his aunt and Dudley while at home. School was a different story, but at home there was nobody for Dudley to show his prowess to. The one time he had tried to bully Harry at home he’d been scolded to an inch of his precious dignity before vowing to never do so again. School though, was a different playing field.

Turning back to the task, Harry grinned, breathing in the sweet smell of illegal freedom and bounded to the living room, flipping on the light switch as he went. While Vernon’s armchair for watching TV wasn’t actually so comfortable, sitting in it felt good. Harry leaned back in the chair, flipping through channels on the TV like it was going out of season. When he’d finally found something interesting to watch, he rushed to the kitchen to grab some snacks, grabbing some basic medical aid supplies on his way back.

Plopping himself back into the chair, Harry got ready to furiously pound into a packet of crisps when a noise stopped him. Although the house was more soundproofed than an underground government facility, Harry kept the volume low to ensure that he would be able to hear if anyone came down the stairs. What Harry heard now was the slow methodical thump of something soft hitting something flat and hard, sort of like Uncle Vernon’s stomach hitting a wall.

Quickly turning off the TV and grabbing the snacks, Harry crouched down next to the armchair, trying to make himself as small as possible. If they didn’t check his room then all was not lost. So he waited, he waited for the inevitable scream of anger that would come upon the realisation that Harry wasn’t where he should be, he waited for the visitor to make their appearance and ruin his summer.

Instead the sound continued, neither raising or lowering in volume almost as if. . .Harry turned his head to face the window where, he was beginning to realise, the sound was coming from. Shivering slightly, Harry figured it was probably just a branch in the wind, call it paranoia, he nonetheless felt the need to check. As he approached the curtained window Harry recalled all the urban legends which included sounds such as these. He wondered if he was about to become an urban legend as well.

Expecting the worst, Harry pushed the drapes aside to find two wide eyes staring straight at him. The eyes belonged, as Harry soon realised, to an old barn owl. He stared back in surprise, their eyes meeting for a few moments before the owl cocked its head to the side as if asking a question. Suddenly Harry felt his scar burn, making him moan in pain. His moan was followed by a loud hoot of the owl which then proceeded to slam its head against the glass window, then again and again the dull thunk against the glass making Harry feel more nauseous than he already was. Harry barely managed to stand amidst the pain while clutching at his forehead and watching the bird in horrified fascination as it proceeded to ram its now bleeding head against the window. Soon cracks began to show, the blood seeping in through the cracks and dripping out into the living room. As Harry saw the blood stain the carpet his only thought was about how mad aunt petunia would be about this. The bird looked dead already, the light mostly gone from its eyes but that didn’t stop it from breaking the window open and showering Harry in glass.

Harry bolted upright, clutching at his scar, his mouth wide open in a silent scream. As the pain ebbed away he noticed that he was in his bed, in his bedroom where he could clearly see that the door was locked. Collapsing back against his pillow, Harry shook his head, staring at the slanted ceiling. It had just been a dream. It had been so vivid, so real, but it had clearly just been a dream. Sighing, Harry let himself fall back to a more peaceful sleep. He could raid the house on a different night.


	3. The Letter

_Dear Diary  
It’s the last day of school. I thought it would be another disappointment but as it happens for the first time it wasn’t . A lady from a very prestigious school in Scotland came to inform me that I had been offered a scholarship and if I should accept I would be starting immediately after summer break.  
I don’t need to tell you what great news that is. Finally I’ll be able to interact with people that can relate to me. At last I’ll have some real friends and maybe school will finally present some form of a challenge.  
Now if only I could find the form Mrs. Cartwright gave me. She looked like she would be very disappointed if I lost it._

-Excerpt from the lost Diaries of Hermione Granger

Summer holidays passed as per usual. Although Harry did have to leave his room during the day to do his basic chores but then for the rest of the day he was free to stay in his room and sleep or to go out when no one was watching. His aunt and uncle did keep him on a short leash but they also didn’t push too much, allowing him some freedom of movement once they didn’t have anything for him to do.

Besides for the unfortunate events occurring on Dudley’s thirteenth birthday, for which Harry still believed he wasn’t to blame, Harry and the Dursleys got along relatively fine. Although he had to admit the events were quite out of the ordinary and if the talking snake hadn’t warned him not to go near the glass the same thing might have happened to him. Poor Dudley, the boy would be traumatised for weeks. Besides for that Harry and the Dursleys got along mostly. That is until the letter came in about Harry’s expulsion, then they weren’t so happy.

After getting over the initial shock of Harry’s expulsion, which they really didn’t find so surprising, they started sending inquiries to other schools about taking in Harry. While the task should have been an easy one, for some reason their attempts were met with silence and more silence. After two weeks of silence the Dursleys visited some of the schools to which they had sent applications, at every one there was a blatant denial of having ever received an application, even after the Dursleys insisted they search for it.

What followed were large amounts of frustration and confusion. Dudley seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, pointing out how Harry couldn’t even get into the worst schools, until that fateful day when everything changed, the morning when the strange letter came and tore through Harry’s otherwise peaceful life.

Like clockwork, Harry’s morning consisted of making and serving breakfast, washing the dishes, bringing in the post and the newspaper and cleaning around the breakfast area after the Dursleys were done. Not too hard and breakfast was as good as he made it.

On that fateful morning as Harry brought the letters in, handing them out to the respective recipient, he found his eyes being drawn to a thick envelope with thick green ink scrawled on the outside. Investigating further he realised with a shudder that it was addressed not only to the house but also to his bedroom, more correctly to the cupboard under the stairs where he slept. Very creepy.

As Harry was inspecting the letter, his uncle noticed his apparent interest. “Did they finally get your bloody application?” he asked, snatching the letter from Harry’s hand before he was able to reply. His uncle flipped it over for a moment and seemed to visibly pale upon seeing it. Harry’s jaw dropped when Vernon proceeded to rip the letter in two without any more reason than a grunt and whisper to Aunt Petunia which was then followed by a scream from Petunia directed at both Harry and Dudley to leave the living room.

Harry was annoyed. It was clearly not about the school thing otherwise they wouldn’t have ripped it up, it must have been a more personal letter. Dudley seemed to brood over being forced to leave his breakfast, Dudley liked brooding, he thought it made him look cool. It didn’t. It did, however, scare off anyone that had even attempted to be friends with Harry. Having a fat thirteen year old stare at somebody with unblinking murderous intent was enough to send anyone running. Anyone but Harry, obviously, who knew that Dudley was really a teddy bear behind his fearful demeanour, a very insecure teddy bear that liked hurting people. Harry didn’t think that Dudley was all that bad . . . when he was asleep at least.

Hearing the hurried whispers passing in between Harry’s aunt and uncle revealed more than Harry had known before. From what it sounded like, both Vernon and Petunia were anxious about something, more than anxious, scared even. All of this only made Harry more curious as to the contents of the letter.

Grinning madly at Dudley, Harry slumped against the door to listen. After a few moments, he smirked as he felt Dudley move over to listen with him with an, albeit, disgusted look on his face. Petunia, Harry could pick out her footsteps, was walking back and forth across the living room, groaning to herself. Vernon was apparently still sitting at the table, eating his breakfast.

“. . .coming for him,” Petunia said worriedly.

“For the freak?” Vernon asked incredulously. “Who would want him?”

“They do, they all do,” Petunia answered, her voice rising slightly in pitch. “They could have put him in one of their orphanages, but they gave him to us instead. You read the letter. They’re all coming for him.”

Vernon groaned. “This isn’t going to be the last letter, is it?”

“Not even close,” Aunt Petunia said. “It’s time. Dumbledore’s instructions, we need to. . .” she trailed off. “Did you hear something?” she asked suspiciously.

“No,” said Vernon.

Terrified, Harry jumped away from the door and raced back to the bottom of the staircase, followed closely by Dudley. While Dudley, out of breath and red in the face, looked completely suspicious, Harry had adopted a casual grace that he had practiced so relentlessly, making it appear as if he had been sitting in the same spot for several months and was in fact part of the furniture. It made him almost invisible. Harry was surprised when a minute passed without the door being thrown open by a hysterical Petunia, then five.

“Who’s Bumbledore?” Dudley asked to no one in particular. Dudley never talked directly to Harry, it wasn’t good for his image.

Harry shrugged, leaning his weight against a banister. He was used to hearing his aunt and uncle speaking about strange topics but this had been a particularly boring conversation as these things went. Harry could only hope that he could recover the letter after the living room had cleared out.

Harry had started moving back towards the door, hoping to get some more information but halted in his step as a sudden scream pierced the silence he had become accustomed to. “There’s blood on my carpet! Who got blood on my carpet?!” Aunt Petunia shrieked.

Harry shivered and decided that it was probably a good time to find somewhere else to be for the next few hours. Dudley seemed to have the same idea.


	4. The Weekend

For Harry and Dudley, being on summer holiday and all, the weekend brought boredom and family time. To quote Dudley: ‘Ugh’. Harry didn’t mind so much, it meant he could watch TV without being shouted at. This weekend however was special for a different reason, one which Harry was still pretty confused and annoyed about and which Vernon was ecstatic about.

Ever since that first letter had come, the Dursley household had been bombarded with the same letters every morning like clockwork. After Harry had almost managed to get his hands on them, his uncle had taken to:

Day 1) Sleeping near the door.

Day 2) Boarding up the door.

Day 3) Not leaving the house.

Day 4) Barring the windows.

His uncle had been working so hard that Harry could have sworn he had lost weight. Now it was day five and Harry was expecting that which his uncle had dismissed, being something catastrophic.

The Dursleys had set themselves up in the in living room around the TV, Harry sitting on the side, ready to serve food if need be. The morning had been oddly quiet, giving Harry an odd sense of dread like the calm before a storm. As Petunia opened a newspaper she snapped at Harry to open the drapes.

Harry moved quickly and obediently, not wanting to give her a reason to get more annoyed at him than usual. Looking back, Harry would wish he had taken that extra step to resist his aunt’s orders that day. As it was though, he couldn’t have known and as such didn’t blame anybody.

With the background sound of his uncle rejoicing about the lack of mail delivery on the weekend, Harry pulled open the drapes to be met with eyes. Hundreds of eyes, attached to owls, all staring at the window, staring at Harry.

With a moan, Harry collapsed to his knees, his scar pounding against his head and making him feel like the world was shaking. The owls shuffled for a moment then all at once let out high pitched hoots, drowning the Dursley household in a cacophony of terror and in unison they began slamming their heads against every inch of house they could reach.

First the windows broke, causing the Dursleys, who were already huddled together in the middle of the room, to start screaming, and then the mail came. Hundreds, nay, thousands of letters fought their way into the Dursleys’ living room, each letter shearing through the birds in the front, covering Harry and the entire living room in blood and feathers. Worse than that, every letter seemed fixated on reaching Harry, moving at breakneck speeds in attempts to reach him, cutting into his hands, his arms, his back, his legs, making him scream all the worse as the pain in his scar intensified.

Rolling around on the floor, Harry felt like his mind was on fire. He wanted to wake up in his bed wherever it was, he never wanted to see another letter again. Almost as if hearing his prayers, he felt a rough hand hoist him up and out of the house, shoving him into a car where the pain in his scar was gradually fading, allowing for his vision to return to a semblance of normality.

Looking around, Harry saw that he was in the backseat with Dudley; his aunt was sitting in the passenger seat and his uncle was just getting into the driver’s seat. The Dursley house looked like it had a bad paint job which had been stopped halfway, or like it had been the product of a bad Halloween joke. Blood coated the walls and the dead, dismembered limbs of varied owls littered the front yard. Gulping, Harry fought down the terror in his throat that wanted to escape and turn him into a crying mess. As his uncle pulled out and started speeding like a madman down the road, Harry knew he wasn’t getting any sleep that night. And to think, he hadn’t even managed to snag one letter.


	5. Happy Birthday To Me

Harry had drawn a cake in the sand. There wasn’t much to say about his skill in art, so the words ‘Happy 13th Harry!’ were somewhat obligatory. After having fled 4 Privet Dr, they had tried one motel after another, yet somehow, the birds had always seemed to beat them, regardless of where they went there was a letter which Harry’s uncle promptly found the quickest way to get rid of. It had finally dawned on Vernon that if they went somewhere that birds couldn’t fly they wouldn’t have to worry about the killer letters or owls for that matter.

Dudley seemed to have gone into a state of shock after what happened at the house and had slept for majority of the trip, his dreams sounded almost as disturbing as real life, the poor kid. Harry, on the other hand, was taking the events quite calmly, which disturbed him. He should have been reacting like Dudley, maybe crying, screaming even from the pain of the collective wounds he had suffered over the past day. He really needed to clean the cuts but there wasn’t much place to do it. They had sailed out to a cabin in the middle of a storm, unreachable without a boat and definitely for a bird with the wild winds in the area.

Now Harry sat in the cabin staring at his sketch in the sand while the Dursleys slept fitfully. It was a shame really, even after all the horror he had just witnessed, Harry was still quite curious as to what had been in the letter. It must have been something important if somebody had been willing to send hundreds of owls to their deaths just to deliver a letter.

Harry halted mid sketch. That was a funny thought, owls delivering letters. That must have been why they were there, otherwise. . .

A loud booming sound shook Harry out of his train of thought. The boom resounded again, louder this time. It sounded like it was coming from the front door, although it could have just been the thunder. Harry watched the door as it shook then flew open, allowing for the wind and rain to enter, finally allowing something else to enter, something big. The giant figure growled and bent to step through the door, closing the door gently behind it. It was a he, a very big, hairy, scarred he that looked ready to murder a whole family of puppies or the like.

“Harry Potter,” he boomed in what sounded like a mix of Norwegian and English. “Where is he?”

Harry, who up until now had been frozen to the spot, scampered away before the big scary man could do anything to him. Hiding next to a door, Harry could hear footsteps, belonging, no doubt, to his uncle, probably coming to see what all the noise was about. The door opened, revealing the big man to Vernon who was carrying a double barrelled shotgun. Not hesitating for an instant, Vernon fired, straight at the giant man who only had time to cock his head to the side before Harry heard the explosion.

Harry wasn’t quite able to process what happened next. First something pink blurred in front of the giant man then the scatter shot stopped in the air. Stopped and floated, the tiny metal balls just sitting there, almost as if they were waiting for something. The big man coughed blood and dropped his arm which was holding a short pink umbrella. With his arm dropping, so did the scattershot, gently hitting the sand and then burrowing underground.

“Damned muggle weapons,” the big man coughed again, pointing his umbrella, which was hardly big enough to cover his head, at his chest. He mumbled something under his breath then wrenched the umbrella away, making him groan in pain as three metal balls dripping blood flew out of his chest then proceeded to bury themselves in the sand.

Vernon, who up until now had been staring aghast had pointed his gun back at the big man and was backing away. The big man’s head flicked upwards at the first sign of movement and pointed his umbrella at Vernon, holding him in place. “Dursley!” he growled. “You piece of shite!” He grabbed the shotgun out of Vernon’s shaking hands and bent it into a knot, letting it fall to the floor when he was done. “Where is he Dursley? Where is Harry Potter?” the big man asked getting very close to Harry’s uncle.

Harry sighed, standing from his hiding place. While his uncle wasn’t the best of people he probably didn’t deserve to die. Harry did his best to position himself near the door then shouted. “Hey hairy, I’m over here.” He didn’t check to see if that had done anything. Grabbing the door handle, he pulled it open and ran outside into the pouring rain.

The wind beat against Harry, trying to push him back as he fought to get away from the small cottage. He didn’t bother to look back, the rain blinded him and he was barely able to make headway of his direction. He realised, quite late, that he didn’t actually have a plan. Just run away from the scary looking giant that had shrugged off shotgun pellets like they were nothing.

Harry’s foot sunk under the mud, tripping him up and landing him flat on his face. He scratched at the floor trying to pull himself out, but it seemed like his leg was in a vice. Then the rain stopped. Or rather Harry stopped getting wet. He felt himself being lifted out up, out of the mud and drying off immediately. He tried to run but his legs wouldn’t move. Harry thrashed, or tried to at least, but wasn’t able to move any part of his body. It was like he had become paralysed and he was able to see who had done so and why.

The giant of a man was moving towards Harry with his pink umbrella pointed at him, the same pink umbrella that had managed to deflect the shotgun pellets, the same pink umbrella that was stopping the rain from falling onto both him and Harry. The strange part about that statement was that the umbrella was still closed.

As the giant of a man reached Harry he looked into his eyes inquisitively, noting the terror on Harry’s face, then hung his head in between his shoulders. “You’re Harry Potter?” the giant asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Harry resigned himself to not being able to do anything as was his lot.

The giant sighed and looked at the scar on Harry’s forehead, shaking his head. “Never mind. You and I need to talk.”

Harry tried to gulp but was still quite paralysed.


	6. History Lesson

“You knew my parents?” Harry spurted, nearly spilling his tea.

Harry was sitting across from the giant, who had introduced himself as Hagrid, just Hagrid, the half-giant, keeper of the keys of Hogworthington. Harry assumed that meant he kept the keys. Harry’s aunt had gotten up from her bed after hearing all the noise and decided to make some tea, or rather decided to let Harry make tea while she told him where all the things were. While Hagrid clearly didn’t approve of this, he kept mum.

Hagrid had just gotten onto the topic of Harry going to some boarding school in Scotland when he threw out that Harry’s parents had gone there. Suddenly Harry’s attitude changed from mildly interested, to absolutely infatuated with whatever Hagrid had been saying.

“Aye,” said Hagrid. “Fought together in the war.”

Harry frowned, trying to recall his history. “The Cold War?” Harry asked finally.

Hagrid smiled at that, and then upon realising Harry was being serious, frowned and shook his head. “No. The Great Wizarding War.” Harry frowned then, once again, not remembering anything like that in his history classes. “The one with He who must not be named,” Hagrid offered.

Harry’s frown only deepened. “I don’t think I’ve heard of he who must not be named. Maybe if you told me his name we could get somewhere,” Harry said.

Hagrid hesitated for a second. “They called him V. . .Voldemort,” he finished quickly, glancing over his shoulder even as he said it. All that got him was a dirty look from Vernon.

Harry thought for a moment and shrugged. “Was he Russian? He sounds Russian,” Harry asked, prompting Hagrid’s head hitting the table.

When Hagrid looked up again he had an almost pitying look in his eyes. “He killed your parents, Harry,” he said softly.

Harry frowned. “He was a cliff?” Harry asked, now much more confused.

Hagrid blinked. “Why would he be a cliff?”

“Because my parents died after their car slipped off a cliff,” Harry said.

Hagrid’s eyes widened, then his head snapped to look at Vernon who had somehow managed to find himself standing quite distance from Hagrid, or as much was allowed in the cramped cottage. “Dursley!” Hagrid growled. “What have you been telling him?” he shouted, rising from his chair. “You told him that Lily and James Potter died in a car crash of all things?”

Vernon mumbled something under his breath as Hagrid turned back to Harry.

“Come now,” said Hagrid. “You didn’t really think that a wizard and witch like your parents would die in a car crash did you?” asked Hagrid.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Umm, when you say wizards do you mean professional magicians? I was under the impression my parents were lawyers. Also it’s really not nice to call my mother a witch,” Harry said, feeling slightly out of his depth.

Hagrid shook his head. “No, I mean wizards, that could do magic, who fought in the great wizarding war, who went to Hogwarts and died to save you,” Hagrid finished, his face red and steam, Harry was pretty sure at least, coming from his ears.

“Are you sure you have the right person?” Harry asked. “I mean there’s probably plenty of Harry Potters in the world, right?” Harry said, shrinking slightly under the murderous gaze that Hagrid was giving him.

Hagrid looked like he was about to scream his head off when an unexpected voice entered the fray. “We didn’t tell him, alright. We wanted him to have a normal life,” said Aunt Petunia from the corner of the kitchen, her gaze avoiding Hagrid’s own. “A lot of good that did us,” she stated, waving at their surroundings.

Harry stared at his aunt, gobsmacked. “You mean, it’s true?” Harry asked in a small voice.

Petunia nodded. “We didn’t want you growing up to be like them but it looks like there’s nothing we could do. Leopards really don’t change their spots, I suppose,” she sniffed, raising her nose in the air.

Vernon chuckled slightly. “Did you really think we were going to get him all excited about that crackpot school with that crackpot headmaster. I’ve seen all the types and he’s raging mad. Never let Dudley go there, even if he was one of them,” Vernon said, eyeing Dudley who was munching on some chips, completely ignoring the conversation. He tended to be good at that.

“That’s your son?” Hagrid asked nodding towards Dudley. He didn’t wait for a response, drawing out his pink umbrella, Hagrid pointed it at Dudley and mouthed something under his breath. A moment later, Dudley jumped up with both of his hands clutched to his backside where, Harry could see, was a spiralled pink tail. “Don’t ever insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me again, pig,” Hagrid said darkly. “Or that will be the least of your worries.”

Vernon gulped and pulled Dudley aside to one of the rooms after he had started crying. Petunia followed soon afterwards, giving Hagrid one of her famous glares as she left, leaving Harry and Hagrid alone, with the sound of Dudley’s sobs echoing in the background.

“So are you coming?” Hagrid asked, standing up from the table and actually spilling Harry’s tea with the motion.

Harry was still too distracted by the sound of Dudley’s crying to notice the tea now covering the table. “I can do that?” Harry asked, referencing what Hagrid had done to Dudley.

Hagrid nodded. “That and much more. Hogwarts is the best school of magic in the world,” Hagrid said, offering his hand to Harry.

Harry made to take it and then hesitated. “What if I can’t do magic when I get there? I mean, I’ve never done magic my entire life.”

Hagrid shrugged his shoulders. “What do you think the point of the school is? You got the letter, it means you can do magic, muggles don’t get the letters. But never mind that. Have you never found that you were able to do incredible things when you were scared. Have you ever been called,” Hagrid smiled, showing his yellowing teeth “. . .strange?”

Harry thought about it, then reached out for Hagrid’s hand. “Where to?” he asked as Hagrid passed him an envelope much like those that had attacked him previously.

“Open that,” said Hagrid. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Harry read through the list of things he needed and sighed. “I don’t think any of the stores nearby are going to have these,” he said.

Hagrid plopped down onto a chair, nearly breaking it as he did so. “That’s why we’re going to Diagon Alley. Now rest up. You need to wake up early tomorrow, there’s a long day ahead of us.” Hagrid hesitated. “Also,” he said, looking quite awkward and attempting to fish something out of his coat. “Happy birthday!” he exclaimed offering Harry something that looked like a rock. “It’s a cake, made it myself,” he said smugly as Harry took the very heavy object which still looked like a rock and felt like a rock too.

“Thanks,” Harry tried, before the rock/cake got too heavy to hold, quickly finding somewhere to put it. Hagrid seemed to be right. It wasn’t even the next day and Harry was already exhausted.

“Alright,” said Hagrid, looking around the small cottage. “Where can I lie down?”


	7. Cauldron Leaks

Hagrid liked his motorcycle. He really liked his motorcycle. Harry also liked Hagrid’s motorcycle, but for a completely different reason. Harry had never been on an aeroplane before and he hadn’t expected his first high ride in the sky to be on something small with only two wheels that growled like a. . .well, like a motorcycle really.

Landing helped Harry understand why the motorcycle still had wheels. Hagrid parked his flying automobile somewhere, then took out his umbrella and made it disappear. He stared at the blank spot where his motorcycle used to be, then, seemingly satisfied, put away his umbrella and started walking at a brisk pace.

It was still early morning and already the streets were sprawling with people. It would have been a problem for Harry to keep up with Hagrid while navigating through the crowds if not for Hagrid’s height which gave Harry a good idea of which way to go even if he wasn’t particularly close.

“We’re here,” Hagrid said, appearing next to Harry after a few minutes of walking, his deep voice kept low.

Harry nodded and looked out in front of him, where, to his utter disappointment, he saw nothing in particular. Two apartment buildings with a grimy little alley shoed in between them

“Where is here?” Harry asked slowly, making sure that he actually had no idea where they were.

Hagrid chuckled and hunkered down to face Harry. “You tell me,” he said, giving Harry a wink.

Harry shrugged and tried to look around for something he had missed. Three times his eyes circled around and landed back on the dirty alleyway, the darkness inviting him in. Harry felt an odd sensation that something about the alleyway was very wrong. “What did you say this place was called?” Harry asked, his eyes glued to the alleyway.

“Diagon Alley,” said Hagrid.

“Ah. That makes sense.” Harry continued to stare into the depths of the dark alley, wondering if he was already looking at his destination.

Hagrid coughed, distracting Harry for a moment, allowing his eyes to unfocus. It was in that moment that he saw it. Focusing on the building he wondered why he hadn’t been able to see it before. “The Leaky Cauldron?” Harry muttered to himself, wondering what it had to do with anything.

“Atta boy,” Hagrid shouted, tapping Harry on the shoulder and almost sending him to the floor with the weight of his arm. “Let’s go then, shall we.” Hagrid then bounded forward towards what looked like the most rundown pub in England. Then again, what did Harry know about pubs?

Upon entering the pub Harry was met with the same strange sensation he had felt upon seeing the alleyway, knowing this time what he was seeing, it was easier to focus and see the truth. A few people sat at different tables talking to each other and very pointedly ignoring Hagrid. None of them seemed to notice Harry at all. Moving past the tables, Hagrid headed to the barkeep, dragging Harry along with him albeit at a slower pace.

“I’ll have the usual Tom, and some water for the kid,” Hagrid said casually, pulling a few coins out from his pocket and counting them.

Tom, the barkeep, nodded and plopped drinks in front of Harry and Hagrid a few moments later. “Hogwarts sends you to pick up the young ‘uns now?” Tom asked, nodding to Harry.

Hagrid shrugged. “Special situation, Tom. Secret of the highest order.”

Tom’s eyes widened as Hagrid spoke.

“Also I have business in the Alley and I volunteered to get the kid as well,” Hagrid finished, making Tom’s shoulders droop.

Tom sighed then and started polishing the bar counter. “What’s your name son?” he asked Harry who was timidly sipping his water.

“Umm Harry,” he said quickly just before Hagrid slammed his hand down on the counter and gave Harry a warning glare. “Uhh Harry Dursley,” Harry finished lamely. Hagrid seemed to calm down a little bit, but not much.

Tom scrutinised Harry for a few moments, making Harry sweat under his fierce gaze. Harry reached up to wipe some sweat off his brow and then saw Tom’s eyes widening.

“Harry Potter,” Tom whispered, staring straight at Harry’s scar.

“Keep it down Tom!” Hagrid growled. “Walls have ears and all that,” Hagrid said, glancing at the witch sitting next to Harry whose head had perked up along with a few others in hearing distance.

“Did I hear what I thought I heard?” the witch asked, giving Harry a curious glance.

Harry looked at Hagrid nervously. Hagrid replied to the unasked question by resigning himself to a nod and downing his drink. Harry looked back at the witch trying a smile. “Uh, I’m Harry,” he said holding his hand out.

Twenty minutes later Harry had met half the bar, learned their names, forgotten them and had met one of his new teachers who was struggling to string a sentence together, his name being the only one Harry could remember.

Professor Quirrel was a tall man who wore a turban and far too much purple for anyone to take him seriously. He also had the worst stutter for a teaching position. Harry wondered if he taught using sign language and if he didn’t it was probably a better idea.

As Professor Quirrel struggled over the ‘you’ of ‘Nice to meet you’ Hagrid came up to him, slapping him on the back in what seemed to be friendly gesture but actually translated into back problems for life. “Always good to see a fellow colleague Quirinus but the lad and I have things to do. See you back at the school,” Hagrid finished then walked away, leaving Professor Quirrel with a dumbfounded expression on his face.


	8. Diagon Street/Road/Alley/Highway

“Hagrid, I don’t mean to sound rude, but why are we staring at a brick wall?” Harry asked, trying as hard as possible to see what he wasn’t seeing. He had been staring at the wall for almost ten minutes without seeing anything but the old, battered bricks. Hagrid had also been staring intently, but possibly for different reasons.

“Looking for a brick,” was all that Hagrid said before fading back into silence.

Harry looked at the wall, seeing several bricks and wondering if Hagrid had somehow gone insane in between the time it had taken them to walk into the pub’s cellar. “I see a brick, Hagrid,” Harry said casually, tapping on a brick.

Hagrid looked at Harry, his eyes widening then shrugged and pulled out his umbrella. “You have a good eye,” Hagrid said approvingly, before tapping the nondescript brick with his umbrella.

Harry was about to ask what Hagrid had meant by that but was interrupted by the sudden noise of people. Turning back to what used to be a wall, Harry was greeted by the sight of a full bustling market place, the colours and textures screaming out at him, drawing his attention to every angle.

“Harry,” Hagrid said nudging him slightly, which for Hagrid meant shoving with murderous intent.

Harry managed to distract himself from the market just in time to stop himself from falling.

“Keep moving,” Hagrid said, powering forward. “Nothing to see here.”

Hagrid waded in and out of crowds and spectators, showing his surprisingly nimble ability once again. Harry was only able to keep up due to his vast experience of running away from Dudley and his goons.

“Where. . .” Harry huffed, barely catching up to Hagrid. “Where are we going?” Harry managed, red in the face from having to run.

Hagrid glanced over at him, his eyes widening as if he had only just seen him. Slowing down substantially Hagrid mumbled a reply. “The bank. Need to get your money so that you can buy your stuff,” he said, glancing over his shoulder even as he spoke. He also seemed to be speaking a little louder than normal.

Shrugging, Harry did his best to keep up. Money sounded good.

The wizarding bank was quite impressive for something made entirely out of stone, thick stone at that. Harry was pretty sure there wasn’t anything in the non-magical world that could lift stones that heavy. For a bank with such heavy fortifications it seemed funny that they would leave the front doors wide open.

While the outside of the bank was a dull grey from the stone, the inside was lavish and pleasing to the eye. Hundreds of tills lined the entrance room, comfortable looking chairs faced each of them and everything seemed to either be plated in gold or silver. As he stared at the entrance Harry noticed small creatures lurking out of the corner of his eye, something that had been bothering him as he had entered the bank.

“What are those Hagrid?” Harry whispered up to his giant companion.

Hagrid looked around confused and then nodded his head. “Goblins,” he said, sounding rather anxious. “Best at what they do, besides for Dumbledore of course,” he finished thoughtfully.

“Who’s Dumbledore?” Harry asked, striding forward nonchalantly.

Hagrid frowned. “Headmaster at Hogwarts,” he said, clearly more disturbed by the question than he was letting on. Walking up to one of the tills, Hagrid faced a ‘goblin’ at his height. Obviously the small creature was standing on a very high podium, possibly with the intention of dominating potential clients. Then again, maybe they were just compensating for something.

The goblin raised his head at the approaching customer, clearly unhappy about being disturbed. “Mr. Hagrid,” the goblin said through gritted teeth. “How can I help you on this fine day?”

Hagrid gave him a toothy smile. “Morn’, Griphook. New student here needs to make a withdrawal. Also,” he said, pulling an envelope out of his coat and handing it to the goblin. “. . .I’m here to make a withdrawal.”

Hagrid reached his hand back gingerly and waited for Griphook to rip open the envelope and finish reading. The goblin’s eyes widened slowly. “We’re compromised?” Griphook asked, his voice catching in his throat.

Hagrid nodded grimly.

The goblin’s face took on a stony expression whereupon he scrunched up the letter and shoved it in his mouth. Three chews, a gulp and then a slightly nasty expression removed all evidence of anything strange having happened. Clapping his clawed fingers together he gave he gave Harry an ugly grin. “And what’s your name little one?” he asked.

Harry looked to Hagrid who nodded then back at Griphook. “Harry Potter,” he said, flinching as if expecting to be attacked.

The goblin did little to react but put on a bored expression. “How can I help you today Mr. Potter,” he drawled.

“I need to make a withdrawal,” Harry said, looking down at his school list.

“And how much will you be withdrawing today?” Griphook asked.

Harry shrugged. “A lot. I’m not sure. Can I see how much I have?” Harry asked, glancing up at Hagrid.

Griphook sighed. “Looks like we’ll have to go to the vault then.” He pushed himself up and walked around the podium where Harry was treated to the true size of Griphook who was little taller than Harry’s waist. “Come along then. Didn’t your mother teach you that staring is rude?”

Harry opened his mouth to argue that he didn’t have a mother to teach him anything, and then closed it slowly, following the goblin as he skittered along. Hagrid tumbled along soon afterwards.


	9. Does This Dress Make Me Look Fat?

Harry’s mind had somewhat blacked out after getting on the underground cart. Having never been on a roller coaster the experience had been a shock to his system. Thus it was that when he walked out of Gringotts carrying a bag of gold, silver, copper and bronze he wasn’t entirely sure how he had gotten them. Hagrid had also taken something, a small package, from a vault that looked and sounded like it hadn’t been opened in centuries. Harry felt that the underground design may have been a little bit of overkill but it had been fun.

After Hagrid had safely secured said package in his pouch, they had gone on a scavenger hunt to find everything on Harry’s school list. Harry was bursting with question which Hagrid answered as amicably as possible.

“Hagrid, why do they use quills and parchment?”

Hagrid grumbled. “I think they teach that in fifth year.”

“Hagrid, why do wizards wear pointy hats?”

“I don’t wear a pointy hat.”

“What’s the cauldron for, Hagrid?”

“What’s a wand?”

“Why would I want an owl, or a rat?”

“Are you listening Hagrid? Huh?”

Hagrid’s only reply was to grumble something about curiosity killing the hippogriff.

“Hagrid . . .?”

Hagrid stopped outside of a store, his face almost purple. “You, inside, meet later,” he strung together before storming off in a different direction.

Harry stared after him feeling slightly confused by Hagrid’s sudden desertion. Shrugging, he walked into the closest store called Madame Malkin’s. There were clothes, lots of them and none of them looked like something Harry would wear at any sort of event. Worse was that Harry couldn’t tell which side of the store was the men’s. Maybe it was an only women’s store, that would explain all the dresses.

“Hogwarts, dear?” said a voice right outside of Harry’s line of vision, making him jump. He really needed to get used to people appearing out of nowhere all the time.

“Yes,” said Harry self assuredly. “Hogwarts, that’s what it’s called, that’s where I’m going. Not right now obviously but eventually.”

The woman, who Harry would guess was Madame Malkin, seemed quite sceptical about his answer. “Aright then,” she resigned. “Just stand still so that I can measure you,” she said, flicking the stick in her hand at Harry without waiting for him to prepare himself.

A small pressure rested against Harry’s body, somewhat like a hug, just everywhere, even in the uncomfortable places. Madame Malkin straightened and for a moment her eyes turned white. Blinking a few times, her eyes returned to normal and her shoulders slumped slightly. “Just wait here then,” she said to Harry. “I’ll have your size in a moment.” With that she disappeared, unnerving Harry to no end.

Footsteps announced somebody that was clearly not the person he had just been speaking to. Harry pretended not to notice the sound as he figured the wizarding world was probably very into arriving unannounced and Harry didn’t want to be rude.

“Hogwarts?” the newcomer drawled less politely than the previous questioner.

Harry turned to face the newcomer who looked to be a pale blond boy Harry’s age. “What do you think?” Harry drawled back, pretending to almost yawn from the strain of speaking.

The newcomer seemed to see Harry as a friend already. “I wanted to go to Durmstrang, but my father insisted. You know how it is. Tradition.”

Harry nodded along, having no idea what he meant both in terms of the new word and in terms of the father.

Without waiting for Harry to reply the boy looked around and sneered. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen someone sneer before that moment and it was truly a sight. He must have practiced that expression in front of a mirror because there was no way that it was natural. “What does a noble have to do to get some help in a place like this?” he asked, either to Harry or to the mannequins on display.

“She’s coming soon,” Harry replied, just in case the question had been addressed to him. “She’s just getting my size for me.”

The blonde boy looked at Harry’s hand me downs from the Dursleys, gave an approving nod and settled for a more normal expression. “You’re right. You need it more than I do. What happened? Cauldron accident?” the boy asked, apparently interpreting Harry’s dishevelled appearance as the result of a magical accident and not, in fact, poor lineage.

Harry smiled at the question. “You don’t know the half of it,” he said ambiguously.

The boy nodded approvingly. “I’m impressed. Daddy wouldn’t even let me touch a wand until my ninth birthday and he refuses to let me near a cauldron until I’m in school. It’s nice to know that there are some other people who understand the need of being prepared.”

Harry nodded hurriedly. “Oh yes, I made sure to prepare as much as possible. My parents were very supportive.”

“Which house do you think you’ll be in?” the blonde boy suddenly asked, the previous conversation apparently forgotten.

“The best one,” Harry replied, having absolutely no idea what house could be referring to.

The blond boy then beamed. It was the first time Harry had seen him smile. “Slytherin then. Oh I hope I get into Slytherin,” the boy said animatedly. “My father was in Slytherin and his father and his father and . . .,”

Harry cut him off abruptly, having little to no desire to hear the boy’s lineage. “It sounds like you’ll get in then, after all, your whole family got in. Probably has something to do with blood.”

“Agreed,” the boy said. “The greatest wizards are only those with pure blood. Slytherin is the house for the purest and greatest. It’s a shame that there are so few pure wizards these days, don’t you agree.”

Harry opened his mouth to once again lead the boy on when Madame Malkin interrupted by appearing out of nowhere. “Here you go my boy. I’m assuming you’ll be going with the school required amount. Do you need to make any additions or subtractions,” she asked, drawing the eye of the blond boy in horror when she suggested subtracting the normal amount of required articles of clothing.

Harry shook his head, for once thankful to be somewhat rich and fished some money out of his pocket. “Thank you,” he said to the shopkeeper, and then to the boy he nodded. “See you in Hogwarts,” he said.

The boy replied in turn.

As Harry left the shop he looked to both sides, then behind him, making sure there was no one within earshot then muttered to himself, “Weirdo.”


	10. Where Do I Stick This?

Harry held the stick, which had been so aptly named a wand, loosely, trying to feel something. This was the tenth wand that the crazy old man, Ollivander, had him trying. Admittedly it had only taken three minutes for him to speed around his storehouse to the farthest extents while also taking measurements of Harry’s forehead, arms, ears, fingers and kneecaps. Harry dared not ask any questions for fear of angering the man prodding him with sticks.

After muttering to himself for another few minutes, the Ollivander’s eyes lit up. Rushing into a side room that Harry suspected hadn’t been used for quite some time judging by the cloud of dust Ollivander kicked up in his rushed entry. When he emerged he was carrying a small lacquered box with varnished wood, when it was opened Harry was slightly disappointed. While all of the wands that he’d tried previously had beautiful intricate designs swirling along the wand lengths, this wand looked mundane as the piece of wood it was, in fact it looked like it had been hacked out of a tree with a blunt axe.

Harry reached for the wand gingerly, trying to find a way to grip it comfortably without pricking himself. He looked at Ollivander with the same expression he’d worn for all the other wands when his eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat and a prickling sensation ran through his whole body as if the blood had only just started flowing. He was able to smell the bakery down the road and the alcohol that had been spilled on the street the previous night. He could feel the fabric of his clothing scratching uncomfortably against his skin and the drying sweat on his feet from his socks. He could hear the heartbeat of Ollivander and the blonde boy in Madame Malkin’s complaining about how he wasn’t allowed to customise his robes with his family’s colours, whatever that meant.

And he could see. . .everything.

Harry gaped in astonishment, wanting to shield his eyes but not needing to for some reason. Picking out details in everything that his eyes flowed over and more. The world had slowed almost to a stop, Ollivander’s twitching showing Harry exactly where he was going to move, almost as if Harry was seeing the future.

As quickly as the feeling had come, it faded as if it hadn’t been there in the first place, leaving Harry missing the feeling but at the same time not wanting it back.”What. . .?” Harry asked, releasing a breath of pent up energy. “. . .was that?” he finished.

Ollivander smiled warmly, looking slightly normal for the first time that day. “That,” he started, “is your wand. The wand chooses the wizard and yours chose you. Congratulations Mr. Potter.”

Harry returned a weak smile, handing over the required amount as he gripped the wand in his hand like his life depended on it. Turning to go Ollivander coughed into his hand something that sounded like the word ‘curious’. Turning back to Ollivander, Harry looked at him expectantly.

“Curious,” Ollivander said again, this time without coughing. “You should know Mr. Potter that a phoenix only ever gives one feather for wandmaking whenever it’s reborn, meaning I can only make such a wand once a century.”

Harry nodded along, clearly not understanding the relevance.

“Almost one hundred years ago the phoenix was reborn and an oddity occurred. In its resting place, where there should have been one feather, there were two. One of them is in that wand you hold in your hand,” he indicated the wand Harry was gripping so tightly. “And the other gave you that scar,” he finished in almost a whisper pointing straight at Harry’s hair covered forehead.

Harry stayed quiet before whispering in reply, “Spooky,” waggling his fingers in the air and walking out in the ensuing silence. He walked straight into Hagrid, letting out a small cry of pain which was followed by a hoot. Alarmed, Harry backed up slightly wondering if the sound came from him. After getting Hagrid’s full body within his field of vision he noticed a snowy owl in a cage being gripped by Hagrid.

Hagrid noticed Harry’s odd expression, looked to the cage and seemed to understand. Shoving the cage in front of him to Harry he said, “Happy Birthday Harry.”

Taking the cage with his free hand Harry stared at the owl wondering what he was supposed to do with it. “Oh, uh thanks Hagrid. It’s very thoughtful.”

“Her name’s Hedwig,” Hagrid informed him.

Harry nodded his understanding, looking at the bird again who stared back with blatant defiance. With a dawning horror, Harry realised that his relatives were not going to be happy about this.


	11. Train of Thought

_The first victims couldn’t have known any better and nobody would have expected them to. But as the body count rose, one had to wonder if there wasn’t something that the rest of us should have known, a mistake that, if solved, could have changed everything. There were of course strange things occurring all the time, things that didn’t make sense. Maybe if people paid more attention to those things the problem could have been solved years earlier.  
Unfortunately Wizards are sticklers for tradition and having a dark lord killing everything that moves is, of course, also a part of that tradition._

Harry’s aunt and uncle were taking the pig’s tail much better than Harry had expected, although they had been colder than usual to Harry, which he could understand. Life in number 4 privet drive continued as per normal, for the most part. The owl though, they didn’t handle the owl so well, not for the reason one may expect.

After it had taken several hours of Hagrid waving his umbrella around the Dursley house looked just like it did before the owls had dashed themselves over the furniture, however Hagrid, as he reminded them several times, was not very good at magic and therefore the calm peace that rested in the Dursley house was often pierced by some evidence of the owls. A bloodstain, a feather or a piece of old paper, all of these things could trigger a different sort of horror in each of the members of the household. Harry had to hide Hedwig for fear of reminding the Dursleys of that traumatic day.

Besides for that the rest of his holidays went well enough, being in Dudley’s old room gave him more space to be active and he spent the time that he wasn’t doing chores surrounded by his books. While most of the jargon was unfamiliar to him he thought he at least had a good hold on the history and uses of magic along with the concepts behind doing said magic, in fact, having almost nothing to do, Harry’s had almost learned the theory off by heart. The practical on the other hand seemed to be out of reach for Harry. Potions of course, he had no opportunity to practice as he had no ingredients, but the wandwork, which should have just needed the wand and the words, heeded no results. It must have been something he was missing that they would teach at the school, perhaps that was the purpose of the school in the first place. Still Harry put his best efforts into doing the magic which the books claimed should be easy.

Then came the day, jumping out at Harry like a bloodthirsty owl. Dudley still had the pig tail and Vernon and Petunia were taking him to London to meet someone about getting it removed, thankfully they gave Harry a lift and were off before Harry had a chance to say goodbye.

Dragging his trunk through the train station, Harry quickly began to realise that something was wrong. Searching his memory he recalled Hagrid telling him to be at King’s Cross Station but the printout on his ticket was not helping matters. Platform nine and three quarters must have been designed by some idiot. There was no way that wizards could always be expected to look for things that weren’t there, it wasn’t healthy to one’s mental state. After confirming with a guard that platform nine and three quarters did not, in fact, exist, Harry stared at platform nine’s wall, trying to do what he’d done with the Leaky Cauldron. There was probably some brick he had to tap with his wand and he did tap the wall all over but didn’t see it as a proof due to his not being able to use his wand for the entirety of Summer holidays.

Admittedly Harry had arrived pretty early because the Dursleys’ appointment had been two hours before Harry’s scheduled leaving time, but he had at least expected being able to get his trunk on the train and taking a nap before the inevitable journey. Perhaps the platform just wasn’t opening until twenty minutes before leaving time. Giving up, Harry placed himself on a bench and readied himself for any other wizards coming. He didn’t have to wait long.

As it turned out that there wasn’t anything for Harry to see, but rather to know. Harry wondered if Hagrid was sent with tasks like these often or maybe for wizards all walls were semi-permeable. Thankfully a pile of redheads that filtered into the train station solved Harry’s problem quickly enough. While Harry did try to tag along with them after charging straight into a wall, he quickly realised that the redhead family existed in their own corner of space and time. Probably just normal wizard behaviour.

Two of the redheads, twins, helped Harry load his things onto the train, introducing themselves as Fred and George, the names didn’t help much seeing as Harry wasn’t sure which was which. After telling them his own name they paled somewhat but managed to pretend it didn’t bother them like good members of british society that they were. When they told their family, however, all good british politeness went out the window in the form of gaping, gasping and some crying from a little redheaded girl no older than eleven.

The train put Harry at ease that there were at least some things in the wizard world that at least looked normal. Although it was abnormally clean, freakishly so, especially for a train, not that Harry had ever been on a train. Harry leaned his head back against the comfortable leather and prepared himself for the sweet bliss of a long journey.

His peace was interrupted almost immediately by the youngest redhead boy from earlier, if Harry recalled his name was Reginald or something. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked to the window, almost ignoring Harry completely.

“Sure,” Harry grunted in response, wondering if this was also some strange form of societal behaviour specific to the wizarding world.

Neither said a word for quite some time, either staring out the window or throwing furtive glances across the booth. Harry didn’t say anything for fear of violating some ancient wizarding custom and the redhead seemed to lack the desire to exert any more energy than was required to breathe. Finally he deigned to speak, still not exactly looking at Harry, but within a ninety degree angle at least.

“So you’re Harry Potter?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled his affirmation. “And you’re Reginald,” he finished.

Reginald frowned. “No actually, it’s Ron, Ron Weasely. Ron’s short for Ronald. Where did you get that other name from?”

Harry shrugged. “Your mum,” he said, holding back a smirk.

Ron frowned again then smiled. “Fair enough. Are you actually Harry Potter though?”

“Course not, I’m Harry Dursley, expert wizard man,” Harry said lamely.

“Sure you are,” Ron smirked. “And I’m Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry frowned. “Who’s that?”

Ron seemed to deflate for a moment. “You don’t know who Albus Dumbledore is?”

Harry shook his head.

Ron sighed. “Anything else you don’t know?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Harry asked, exasperated.

Ron shrugged. “You’re not I suppose. Still, I don’t meet a muggleborn every day. I’m just trying to learn as much as possible before school starts.”

“You’ve never met a muggleborn?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Have you?” Ron retorted.

Harry shook his head. “No, I guess not,” he said, smiling finally.

“Anyways,” Ron started. “Can I see your scar?”

Harry gawked at him. “How’d you know about my scar?” he asked.

“Everyone knows about your scar,” Ron replied. “Even my great aunt and she’s crazy.”

Looking slightly perturbed, Harry brushed his fringe up, showing Ron the lightning bolt carved into the centre of his forehead. “If I’m being honest that’s very creepy,” he said as he watched Ron’s eyes widen in wonder.

“Whoah,” Ron managed. “It looks worse than I pictured. That’s from He Who Must Not Be Named?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, what’s his name, Valtimir or something, right?”

Ron winced. “Yeah uh, don’t say that. Also you got it wrong,” Ron said uncomfortably.

“Don’t say what? Valtimir? Why not?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head, wincing again. “It’s just not done.”

Harry nodded his understanding. “Wizarding etiquette. I don’t think I’m ever going to understand it.”

“Not etiquette,” Ron said. “Fear.”

“Fear?” Harry started. “What’s going to happen if I say his name? Is it like saying ‘Bloody Mary’ in a mirror or something?”

Ron winced again. “Don’t do that either, but no, nothing is going to happen to you. It’s just, after the war, after everything he did, people don’t say his name.”

“Am I going to get arrested if I say it?” Harry asked half jokingly.

“No,” Ron answered. “It’s just not done,” he said, looking down and losing interest.

Harry stared at the redhead boy across from him, waiting for him to do something to continue the conversation. Realising that he wasn’t going to, Harry resorted to looking out the window, watching the scenery speed by and enjoying the silence.

The trip was mostly uneventful, while there were a few interruptions there wasn’t anything that could be defined as memorable in even the loosest meaning of the word. There was a woman that came past selling various items of what one might be able to call food if they lost their taste buds.

“Do wizards really eat these things?” Harry asked Ron as he tried to spit out the taste of cabbage from the jelly bean he had attempted to consume.

Ron nodded. “It’s not so much about the taste as it is about the risk,” he said, getting a mischievous smile on his face. “The chocolate frogs are what I struggle to understand,” he nodded to the assortment of things Harry had bought.

Harry grabbed one of the boxes and began opening it. “Why? What’s wrong with them?” Harry asked, his eyes slowly falling on the frog shaped chocolate in the box. “It’s not actually a frog right?”

The frog twitched.

Harry let out a small yelp and let go of the frog which proceeded to jump, heading straight for the window. Ron plucked the frog out of the air imperceptibly, casually stuffing it in his mouth and biting down. “Not to be a dampener on your weird muggle customs but wizards don’t eat frogs.” He stopped with a thoughtful expression before continuing, “At least not in Britain.”

“So what exactly possessed the manufacturers to put a live whatever in a box? Did they forget to kill it?” Harry asked.

“It’s chocolate that’s been enchanted. It wears off after a while. Folks don’t buy it for the chocolate though,” Ron said, grabbing the box. “They buy them for the cards.” Ron pulled a silvery card out of the box, handing it to Harry.

The card displayed an old bespectacled man with a long white beard staring to the side. A moment later Harry let out another small scream as the man in the picture also started moving. “Why does everything in the bloody wizarding world have to move?” Harry exclaimed, flinging the card at Ron, who once again caught it without looking.

Glancing at the card Ron’s face lit up and then fell. “Oh it’s just Dumbledore, already got seven of him, you can have him if you want,” he said, handing the card back.

Harry frowned. “People keep on mentioning this guy, who is he?” he asked.

Ron gawked. “Oh come one. You must have. . .oh never mind, muggle family, right.”

Harry nodded his head then looked back at the card. “Oh, he’s gone, must have moved to the other side.” Flipping the card over, Harry was treated to a short description of Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore and his exploits, featuring the Philosospher’s stone, Nicholas Flamel, dragon’s blood and his being head of the wizard maggots or something, probably a sports team, more likely a debate team. “Huh,” Harry said after a long silence. “Lame.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “They’re never able to convey what the wizard is really like. I’ve never met Dumbledore but from what my brothers have told me he’s the craziest and scariest wizard you’ll ever meet.”

Harry smirked. “Sounds like fun.”

It was that moment that a hairball entered the booth along with a short chubby boy.

“Have you seen Neville’s toad?” the female sounding hairball asked.

Taking a closer look, Harry realised the hairball was in fact just a girl with really curly hair sprawled everywhere. The only other defining features from her otherwise hidden face, were the prominent braces locked onto her teeth which helped Harry in finding out where her mouth was. “I think Ron ate a toad,” Harry said nodding t Ron.

Ron shrugged. “It was tasty.”

The chubby boy next to the hairball, who Harry assumed was Neville, looked mortified.

Noticing his expression, Ron sighed. “No, we haven’t seen a toad. Have you considered using magic to find it?” he asked.

The girl snorted. “Please. We don’t learn locator spells until third year.”

Ron chuckled. “That’s a long time to wait,” he said, showing his teeth.

“Do you think this is funny? You probably can’t even do magic,” the girl said, her temper clearly rising.

“I can do magic,” Ron said meeting her eyes, still smiling. “Scabbers,” he said as if that explained exerything.

The girl looked confused at first then let out a small screech as a rat crawled down Ron’s arm from within his sleeve. She calmed down quickly though and looked at Ron expectantly as he pulled his wand out from his other sleeve.

Pointing the wand at the rat, Ron began chanting, “Sunshine daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow,” which accomplished absolutely nothing.

The girl snorted again. “That’s not a real spell. Here let me show you some real magic,” she said, pulling her own wand out of her dress and pointing it at Harry.

A moment later, Harry felt like the world suddenly took on a new semblance of clarity. “How. . .?” he stammered. “What did you do?”

The girl smirked. “I fixed your glasses, it looked like they were past overdue,” she said.

“I’m impressed,” Ron said. “Not many wizards learn magic before school. What’s your name?”

With a self satisfied smile the girl replied, “Hermione Granger.”

Ron frowned. “Granger? It doesn’t sound familiar. Are you from Hungary, I’m a little rusty on Hungarian wizardry?” he asked, his eyes darting up, clearly disturbed about his lack of knowledge.

Hermione shook her head. “No. London. Muggleborn,” she explained.

Ron nodded his understanding. “Do you see what I mean, Harry? Muggleborns are great,” he said. “Anyways I’m pleased to meet you. Ron Weasely at your service and my friend here is Harry Potter. I’m sorry we couldn’t help with your toad.”

Hermione’s eyes widened on the mentioning of Harry’s name. “Harry Potter? The boy who lived? Wow! I’ve read so much about you,” she said, oblivious to the strangeness of her statement.

“There are things written about me?” Harry asked, a disturbed expression on his face.

“Of course,” Hermione replied. “Most history books have at least one mention of you.”

“I read our history book,” Harry protested. “There was nothing about it there.”

“Well yes, in terms of the school education we only cover the second Great War in our fifth year, but any history book that isn’t required reading will have you guaranteed.”

Harry let out a small whine and buried his head in between his knees, while Ron seemed to enjoy his pain.

“Is there anyone here that doesn’t know my name?” Harry asked, desperately, after the duo had left to continue the toad hunt.

Ron shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Harry sighed. “No, I suppose not,” he said, casting his eyes around the booth. “Let’s finish all of this before we arrive, I don’t want to get throw up flavoured jelly bean on my new clothing.”

Ron smiled, grabbing a chocolate frog and a pumkin pasty. “Now that is something I can sympathise with.”


	12. Firsties Have to Stand

Harry liked his robes, he liked how they billowed around him, making him look dramatic in the darkness, more than that, he liked that they fit. Most of his clothes until then had been second hand or hand me downs from Dudley, now he had clothes that hugged him in all the right places and stayed away from the wrong places. It was his first sense of belonging of fitting in, even if he felt a little funny wearing the hat, Ron had explained the hat was only for formal occasions and the odd festival.

Hagrid was waiting to meet the first years after the train ride, all the older years had gone off on some horseless carriage, leaving the first years to attempt boat-riding. Thankfully for magic, the boats drove themselves, otherwise Harry was pretty sure they would have never made it.

Hogworthington was a gigantic castle. Even without including the sheer size of the building which seemed to strike the heavens, the width of the building filled Harry’s field of vision even before they were halfway across the lake, and the lake, even with being magically accelerated, still took around an hour to cross. An hour of nervous silence, permeated by the occasional hurling sound from Neville and by Hagrid’s bad singing.

Besides for the swamp, the school was surrounded by forest, so much forest, as far as the eye could see with the trees seemingly getting higher the further the forest went. Obviously just a hill but the effect made a chill run down Harry’s spine. The howling from the forest only set Harry more on the edge.

“Why are you smiling so much?” Ron asked from his place at the front of the boat.

“I was smiling?” Harry asked.

“You are smiling. Seriously, do you enjoy boat rides that much?” Ron asked.

Harry stared into the forest again. “No. I was just thinking that I’m really going to enjoy this place.”

Ron stared at him before shrugging and closing his eyes. “Bored,” he yawned before drifting off to sleep.

Entering the castle made the boat ride almost seem luxurious in comparison. The vast amount of stairs left Harry out of breath, all of his companions seemed to be of the same state of physical weakness, although others hid it better, Ron, however, was making no effort to do such.

“So you’re Harry Potter,” a familiar voice declared behind Harry. Moving sluggishly from his trip up the stairs, Harry squinted at the blonde boy he’d spoken to a few weeks earlier in Madame Malkin’s. He was currently flanked by two brutish looking boys that made the boy in the middle seem dwarfish in proportion. 

“It is I,” Harry said, raising his nose in an imitative gesture. “With whom am I speaking?”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You may have heard of me,” he said with a casual flick of his hair.

Harry nodded. “Oh yeah, sure, you were in that. . .thing. . .,” he said.

Draco ignored Harry’s lack of knowledge, probably not even hearing him. “Yeah, so I think it would be advantageous for us to be friends,” he raised his nose in disgust at Ron. “Obviously we’ll need to get rid of that riff raff you have over there.

Ron looked too out of breath to be offended but opened his mouth to respond anyway before Harry managed to cut him off. “Uh yeah, I don’t really think you know what the word friend means,” Harry answered. “I already have this friend and he’s better than you right now, maybe next week. Do I get refunds on friends?” he addressed to Ron, who replied with a shrug.

Draco stared daggers at Harry. “It doesn’t have to be like this, we could be cordial.”

Harry shrugged. “Listen friend, I don’t even know you, but from the two minutes in which I’ve spoken to you I can tell we are not going to get along. Maybe go find someone else to form a business partnership with, I’m not in the mood.”

Draco looked like he was about to blow a gasket and order his lackeys to attack Harry when a stern looking woman interrupted their bickering. “Students, line up. I am professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and the head of the Gryffindor house. In a few minutes you will enter the main hall and you will be sorted into your respective house. The hat will tell you more, but try to understand that these houses do not define you and your studies. They may show you a path in life, but that path is nothing without hard work. The decision need not be the last you make. Try to remember that at least. I will call your name alphabetically, when you hear your name called you will step up and place the hat on your head whereupon you will be sorted. Understood? Good, follow me,” she finished, without waiting for any sign of understanding she turned on her heel and started walking.

Standing in the great hall, Harry realised quickly that ‘the hat’ professor McGonagall was referring to was in fact as it had sounded, just a plain old boring hat. Harry wasn’t bothered by the fact that said hat was placed in front of the entire school on an armchair or the fact that it seemed to be speaking English well, no, Harry was bothered by the expression on the hat of complete and utter boredom. That is until it started singing.

Harry couldn’t say the song made much sense to him but he could boil down the basics to:

Gryffindor = Courage/Bravery

Hufflepuff = Loyalty/Hard work

Ravenclaw = Seekers of Knowledge

Slytherin = Cunning (and being evil according to Ron)

In other words, not very many viable options.

While Harry could hear the appeal of being in a house like Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, the amount of dedication they seemed to require seemed quite astonishingly out of Harry’s depth. He wasn’t exactly the hard working type or one for companionship and the pursuit of knowledge seemed rather dreary and depressing in light of the rest of the options. Leaving only Gryffindor and Slytherin. While Slytherin would have been the obvious choice based on description alone, the people there didn’t live up to the claims if Draco was anything to go by.

It looked like the obvious choice was Gryffindor, all he had to hope was that the talking hat didn’t want to get him killed, and judging by the looks he was getting from Draco, the danger was real.

Before he knew it, the hat was being placed on his head and somebody was stalking to him.

“So what’s it going to be?” the voice asked.

Harry looked around to see who had spoken, then realised it must be the hat. “Isn’t it your decision?” Harry thought at the hat.

“I’m a hat,” the hat replied. “I just lay out the options for you. You could do well in Slytherin or Gryffindor both, I wouldn’t recommend Hufflepuff, not exactly your style and Ravenclaw is just full of insufferable know it alls. There is an advantage to any of them obviously but the choice is yours.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. So if for example I said not Slytherin you would. . .”

Harry was cut off by a roar from the hat above him shouting, “Gryffindor!”

Harry’s eyes widened, then he relaxed. It would have probably taken him a lot longer to make that decision. Even as he felt the hat rise off of him – it wasn’t floating, just taken off – he could see the entire Gryffindor table cheering for him. Standing up quickly he moved off to the table to enjoy his strange and newfound fame.


	13. A Sweeping Performance

_Dear Diary_

_Today we got sorted into our different houses, the hat offered Ravenclaw, but I wanted Gryffindor. Not that there’s anything wrong with Ravenclaw obviously, but they seem to be entirely dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, but I don’t think I want to be stuck reading books my whole life, even if it’s what I’m good at. After all, who would read a book instead of delving into a whole new world of magic.  
My roommates seem nice, I already know all their names, I just need to introduce myself. Also I’m in the same house as Harry Potter which is spectacular. He seems quiet oblivious to his fame which might actually make him a better person. But I’m not a great judge of character.  
After the sorting the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, told us that the Forbidden Forest is in fact forbidden as well as the corridor on the third floor. There were a few other rules which didn’t seem to apply to me. The teachers are all so interesting looking. The pale one and the one with the turban in particular. I wonder what secrets they’re hiding. Not to mention the doorkeeper who was possibly the tallest man I’ve ever met. The feast was amazing, some of the best food I’ve tasted and after some inquiries I found out that the flavour is magical and isn’t actually so unhealthy. I’m just worried about gaining loads of weight.  
  
_

“So I’m famous?”

Ron nodded.

“For something I did as a baby?”

Ron nodded.

“And everyone somehow knew this besides for me?”

Ron looked up from his homework and gave Harry a patronising look. “Fame in the magic world isn’t the same as in yours. You weren’t a celebrity, you were a legend, an urban myth. People grew up with your name on their lips. You’re more similar to. . .I guess Merlin. Do you have Merlin in your world?”

Harry shook his head, ignoring his question. “Wait, so how did you know about my scar?”

Ron shrugged. “Part of the legend. I didn’t really believe it until I saw you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but Ron was already back to his homework. “So basically I’m like Santa Claus?”

“Who’s Santa Claus?”

“Never mind,” Harry said. Taking a look at his homework, Harry groaned. “She turned into a cat then gave us homework. She really knows how to take the magic out of magic,” Harry said, scratching out what he thought might be an answer with his quill. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to this thing,” he muttered to himself.

“The cat thing was a surprise, wasn’t it?” Ron commented, not looking up from his paper.

Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s not normal?”

Ron fixed Harry with a glare. “Of course not. How many people have you seen turn into animals?”

“One, but. . .” Harry started.

“Besides, it’s illegal without a license, which, according to Fred and George, is very difficult to get” Ron finished.

“They can turn into animals?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. “Dad found out after they tried to apply and put them under ministry surveillance. They weren’t very happy about that.”

Harry tried to write another answer and felt his quill tear through the parchment. Amidst everything else the thought came to mind that it was going to be a long year.

*

Harry’s first potions class with Professor Severus Snape left Harry more confused coming out than going in, but on the plus side it had a more hands on involvement unlike all his other lessons which were just tons of theory. In fact only homework he had received from Runes was learning all variants of the Greek alphabet through the years, both factual and theoretical and being able to differentiate between them. Potions, though, had been somewhat uncomfortable what with his professor bombarding him with questions that the bushy haired girl swore weren’t in the textbook. Harry suspected the potions professor didn’t like him very much.

Visiting Hagrid with Ron was the highlight of his week and that was saying something. Although Harry was pretty sure Ron didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. Then there was the broom flying. Ron had been sneaking Harry out every night to do what was typical of wizards and witches if they wanted to get anywhere, namely flying. . .on a broom, which was surprisingly not that uncomfortable. Still pretty uncomfortable though.

The rule breaking helped Harry keep sane throughout the craziness of the week although there had been some close run ins with the school caretaker, Argus Filch, and his cat, those just added to the fun. Harry was already quite familiar with the broomstick when their flying lesson came which was probably the only reason he was still alive.

Madame Hooch was a retiree from one of the most notorious quidditch teams in the world, at least that’s what Ron was mouthing to Harry as she explained the mechanics of flying. Harry only looked away for a second but the next thing he knew Neville Longbottom, a fellow Gryffindor, broke his wrist, apparently after falling almost half the length of the castle. He was still alive so that was something.

Then Draco started acting like a regular piece of garbage, grabbing some spherical object from where Neville had fallen and flying off with it. The next thing Harry knew, he was chasing after Draco while yelling profanities at him.

Draco was apparently pretty good at flying, Harry chased him around the entire field, up and down, looping through some random hoops that some idiot had decided so set up in the middle of nowhere, finally stopping twenty meters above their class.

“So, Potter, who taught you to fly?” Draco asked holding the spherical object lightly as if he was about to drop it.

“Your mum,” Harry managed, struggling to maintain his balance. He eyed his class below him, felt slightly nauseous and looked away again.

Draco frowned, quickly replacing it with a smirk. “Not that you would know what it’s like to have a mum, would you?”

Harry blinked. “Is that supposed to insult me? Give me the ball or I’ll knock you off your broom,” Harry threatened.

Draco maintained his smirk, although it looked difficult. “Alright Potter,” he said, holding out the ball towards Harry. “Come and get it,” with a grunt he withdrew his arm and pitched the ball as hard as possible, towards the nearest wall.

*

“What were you thinking?” Ron whispered to Harry at the back of their Charms class.

Harry eyed Professor Flitwick’s forehead, making sure that was the only part of him that was visible before whispering back to Ron, “I wasn’t.”

“You have surprisingly good luck, mate,” Ron said. “If I had done that I would have been expelled, no doubt. But you break the rules and you get put on the Quidditch team. I swear you could probably camp out in the third floor corridor and get awarded head boy.”

Harry shrugged. “I really don’t get what was so special about what I did. I just caught a ball and suddenly everyone is piling praise. If I didn’t know better I would think it’s just an elaborate prank. But hey at least Neville got his red ball back.”

Professor Flitwick interrupted the conversation with two, thankfully light, books dropping on their heads. “Do you two have anything to add?” he asked.

Both Ron and Harry shook their heads. “No Sir,” they said together. For the rest of the lesson they passed notes instead.

*

“So Quidditch is a sport, some might think it’s a lifestyle or life itself, but it is in fact a game. There are several positions throughout the game, but you are a seeker and your job is mainly strategy. For the first two hours it’s your job to avoid the bludgers which will, as the name implies, attempt to bludgeon you, all while keeping your eyes on the snitch. After two hours a bell will sound and it will be your job to catch the snitch if we’re winning, if we’re not, it’s your job to stop the other seeker from catching it while we try to raise our own score. It’s the most violent, dangerous and essential of positions. Do you think you’re up to it?”

Harry blinked at Oliver Wood, his new Quidditch captain, and shook his head. “Could you repeat all of that again, but this time leave out the parts with it being dangerous and deadly.”

Wood sighed. “Ok, in summary. First two hours of the game, try to stay out of our way and try to stay alive. When you hear the bell you look towards me and I’ll give you the signal. Thumbs up means catch the thing, thumbs down means do everything in your ability to prevent the opposing seeker from catching it. Got it?”

Harry scratched his head. “That sounds like it could take a long time.”

Wood nodded. “The longest official match recorded was a week.” After a look at Harry’s alarmed face Wood laughed. “But don’t worry, the school limits it to twelve hours.”

Harry didn’t look very relieved.

Wood proceeded to give Harry a demonstration of what each of the balls looked like and how they acted then gave Harry a timetable of when they would be having practice. “One more thing, Harry,” Wood started as Harry was heading back to the common room. “When you’re out there on the field, don’t die,” then left with a smile.

Harry wasn’t quite sure if he was joking or not.


	14. Troll Bogies

_Dear Diary_

_I don’t have friends. I thought it would be different here but it’s not. Everyone here may as well be in a normal school doing normal subjects. I tried to introduce myself to my roommates and they gave me blank looks all the while I was speaking. Apparently being a Muggleborn means I’m not privileged to an education. Well I’ll show them. I wonder if they’ll let me skip a year here, or two._  
Wizards and witches like to think that they’re of a higher class because they can do magic, but the truth is that they’re not much better than the muggles that they look down on. Maybe magic makes a person live longer and makes them more powerful than any military force but in terms of their humanity, well they may be a step down.  
I don’t know if magic is worth it any more.

Of the extensive members of Gryffindor first year, while some were fun, some were strange, and some were pitiful, none were as distant as Hermione Granger. The only reason anyone knew her name was because it was called out at the sorting, and even then no one was quite sure. She did tend to answer a lot of questions in class and so everyone knew her surname, as the professors consistently called on her.

While in classes she was what could be defined as quite chatty, outside she was either silent or absent, most said that they saw her in the library or talking to teachers. Ron figured that she was probably the second most clever student in first year. When Harry asked him who he thought was the most clever Ron merely grinned and ignored the question.

It was clear though that, in Gryffindor, Hermione was the most intelligent. While Harry was managing to keep up with the theory, Hermione was already doing most of the practical, had apparently learned the textbook for all the lessons off by heart. It was infuriating somewhat. She was also the only person that annoyed the potions professor more than Harry. If only professor Snape didn’t take out his frustrations from Hermione out on Harry.

For some reason though, Ron took Hermione’s know-it-all personality as a personal affront and was contending with Draco with the snide remarks count whenever she spoke. The difference between Ron and Draco was of course that Ron only ever told Harry what he thought and in private while Draco felt the need to tell everyone in a stage whisper. Unfortunately the only person Ron hated more than Hermione was Draco, so class made Ron seethe and post class was mostly Ron complaining about their pointless homework, Hermione, Draco, or all three at once, which he somehow managed.

“I swear, it’s like they don’t want us doing magic. Honestly, I can’t stomach theory any more, just one spell, one little spell, it’s all I ask,” Ron moaned one day as they were on their way to Charms. “It’s bloody Hallows Eve tonight and if I’m not allowed to do some magic I am going to break my wand.”

“What’s so special about Halloween?” Harry asked.

“You mean Hallows Eve?” Ron corrected. “I don’t really understand it but basically magic is stronger on Hallows Eve. That’s why You Know Who decided to kill you on Hallows Eve.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “That happened on Halloween?”

Ron nodded. “Hallows Eve. Certain spells can’t even be cast unless it’s on Hallows Eve or one of the solstices.”

Harry sighed. “I’ve really got to read one of those history books,” he muttered. “I’m sure the teachers have a good reason preventing us from doing practical magic, maybe we need to know all that stuff to do it.”

Ron shook his head. “No, that’s not it.”

“How would you know?” Harry asked, arriving at the door to their Charms class.

Ron looked at Harry contemplatively before shrugging. “Something my brothers told me.”

Charms class thankfully did have practical magic for the first time to celebrate their completion of Latin. Harry didn’t think he knew half as much Latin as his professor expected. He started off demonstrating a book levitation spell which involved some hand movement and elaborate wording, ‘wingardium leviosa’. He had the class levitating feathers to start although he didn’t expect anyone to succeed. Apparently using the spell was like working a muscle that had never been used before. He expected everyone to be able to lift the textbook by the end of the year.

The class started into it, all excited to be doing some magic, all besides Ron who couldn’t look more bored as he over exaggerated the wand movements while pronouncing the spell completely differently to how professor Flitwick had instructed.

Harry was about to ask him why he was messing around when he had finally gotten what he wanted but he was interrupted by an all too familiar female voice emanating from a bush of hair.

“You’re putting the emphasis in the wrong place. It’s levi-oh-sa, not levio-saaaa. Seriously get it right and stop messing everyone else up,” Hermione lectured Ron, loud enough for everyone in the class to hear and go silent as they watched the spectacle.

Ron’s nose flared and he opened his mouth, clearly about to say something he would regret before leaning back and smirking. “Oh yeah? Well if you’re so clever, why don’t you do it then?”

Hermione locked eyes with Ron for a few seconds before smiling back. “Sure.” Then pointing her wand at the feather she pronounced the spell as if it was her first language and the feather rose evenly from the table then lowered again to land perfectly on Ron’s head.

Clapping his hands, professor Flitwick cheered. “Well done Miss Granger, ten points for Gryffindor. Now everyone else back to work.” Then beckoning to Hermione, “Approach me Miss Granger, we have much to speak about.”

Hermione stood up and approached the professor as Ron seethed behind her. Harry tried the spell Hermione’s way to no effect but receiving a glare from Ron. Ron spent the rest of the lesson trying the spell his way, probably just to annoy everyone around him.

*

“I mean, come on, there’s no way Flitwick buys her whole good girl act. He’s probably had load of stuck up students like her,” Ron complained, as both he and Harry headed down from the Gryffindor dorms to the Hallows Eve feast.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Maybe she really is like that in real life.”

Ron chuckled. “No, I don’t believe anyone can be that insufferable in real life.”

“How about Malfoy?” Harry asked.

Ron grinned. “Malfoy’s so fake I would believe someone if they told me he was the offspring of an elf transfigured to look like a human. Any attention he gets is either fear of his father or pity. A bit of both for the most part.”

“Maybe, yeah, I guess.” Harry said, still trying to picture what an elf looked like. “But why does Hermione rub you the wrong way? What’s wrong with her acting like that though?”

Ron thought about the question for a moment. “Well I guess it’s because she’s acting like she’s above us all. You know what I mean? Do you remember earlier? It’s levi-oh-sah not levio-saaa. As if her way is the best and only way. She can’t even take a little joke. No wonder she doesn’t have friends.” At that moment Ron was shoved forward by someone behind him. “Hey watch it!” he exclaimed. “Watch where you’re goi. . .” cutting off in the middle of the sentence as he saw who had shoved him. Stopping and looking at Harry with alarm he asked, “Was that. . .?”

“It was,” Harry nodded.

“Damn,” Ron muttered. “Do you think this is going to affect her badly?”

Harry nodded. “You should probably go apologise to her.”

Ron looked like he was about to give Harry a piece of his mind then shook his head and looked down. “Yeah, probably. I’ll do it at the feast.”

“Good man,” Harry said, and carried on walking, Ron followed soon afterwards.

*

“Have you seen Hermione?”

“Nope.”

“Who?”

“The general?”

Sitting down next to Harry, Ron’s head slumped. “It’s hopeless Harry. Nobody knows where she is.”

“Have you asked her roommates?” Harry asked in between bites of some form of meat. Looking down at his stomach he asked, “Do I look fatter than usual? I’ve been trying really hard.”

Ron blinked at Harry. “You look normal. Who are her roommates?”

Harry, suddenly downcast, nodded to his right. “I think Lavender and Parvati are her roommates, I’m not quite sure how many girls there are per room though,” Harry said.

“Who?”

Harry pointed.

“Should I even ask how you know that?” Ron asked worriedly.

Harry shrugged. “They’re the only girls that know her first name.”

Ron looked downcast again. “Now you’re just saying things to make me feel more depressed. Alright, wait here, I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, chomping into another piece of meat, as Ron walked off towards the two girls.

Returning a moment later, Ron looked slightly the worse for wear. “They said they heard her crying in the girl’s bathroom near the dungeons.”

“You’re a horrible person,” Harry said.

“I’m a horrible person,” Ron agreed.

They sat in silence for a while before the peace was shattered by a high pitched scream coming from the great hall’s entrance. The scream was followed by a panicked professor Quirrel running into the great hall. “Troll!” he exclaimed without a stutter. Then remembering himself, a much more stuttered, “Troll! In the dungeons,” before collapsing on the ground and having miniature seizure.

“Troll?” Harry asked Ron.

“Apparently,” was the reply.

“Trolls are real?” Harry asked.

Ron ignored Harry as the headmaster took the opportunity to calm the students and order everyone back to their dormitories in a slow and orderly fashion, with everyone following their respective prefects. Ron moved to follow, before being pulled back by Harry.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked.

“Do you want to die?” Ron retorted.

Harry shook his head. “This isn’t about me, we need to tell Hermione. This can also be a good opportunity for you to apologise.”

“Shouldn’t we tell a teacher?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. “No time.”

Ron sighed. “You’re right. But if we die, I’m blaming you.”

*

Racing to the girls bathroom would have been a lot easier if they’d had any idea where it actually was. “How hard can it be to find? It’s the one place only girls go into and come out of. It’s not like people don’t notice that type of thing. Why don’t you people have signs for these types of things. None of this would have happened if you had just labelled your bathrooms,” Harry shouted to no one in particular.

Ron ignored Harry’s ramblings, trying to keep an ear out for the troll.

“How bad is a troll anyway? Can they also do magic?” Harry asked, as they rounded a corner.

Ron stopped suddenly, letting Harry knock into him. “I think you’re about to find out,” Ron said in a much higher pitch than normal.

It only took a moment for Harry to figure out what had Ron so shaken. “Oh,” was all Harry was able to say while he watched the giant grey figure brandishing a giant wooden club that broke up the marble floor as it dragged along. “Uh Ron, I think I just found the girl’s bathroom.”

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times before the screaming started. Harry darted past Ron, heading towards the bathroom with as little care for himself as possible, snapping Ron out of it at the last moment. “This day just keeps on getting worse,” Ron said to himself. “And to think I still have potions homework.”

Harry slowed before entering the girls bathroom, considering the moral ramifications of entering the girls bathroom before shaking his head and rushing in, followed shortly by Ron. The sight that greeted them was the bathroom in shambles and a large nine foot creature breaking every toilet one by one with its club. Water was shooting out of the already broken toilets, showering both Ron and Harry in a spray of toilet water. Hermione rushed out of the stall that the troll was about to destroy, running to hide under a sink on the other side of the bathroom.

The troll turned faster than Harry would have expected, facing Hermione and trudging towards her, it’s club destroying another five stalls as it made the journey. Ron just stared, seemingly petrified by the scene. Harry, on the other hand, was already rushing towards the troll, his wand out and ready for action.

“Harry, stop!” Ron shouted. “You don’t know any magic.”

“I know,” Harry shouted back. As the troll raised its arm to bring it crashing down on Hermione’s screaming head Harry jumped forward, catching onto the troll’s arm and holding on for dear life. Whatever Harry was intending to do apparently worked as the troll’s attention was suddenly diverted to trying to shake off Harry. All the shaking really managed was throwing Harry from the troll’s upper arm to its head, Harry wrapping his arms around the troll’s neck in mid air.

Amidst all the screaming and burst water, a sickening thunk sounded throughout the bathroom. As the troll turned, raising its club to its head, Ron understood why. Harry’s wand was sticking out of the troll’s nose, the wand was mostly concealed and it was a long wand. The troll had raised its club and was trying to knock Harry off its back.

Ron analysed the situation and realised that this was probably the best time for him to do something. Pulling his wand out of his sleeve, Ron pointed his wand at the troll and uttered the most recent spell to wander through his head.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” said with the completely correct pronunciation. The troll swung its arm again but this time it was most likely a ton lighter as its club was pulled from its grip to dangle in the air, Ron holding it there with ease. Raising his arm he shouted, “Harry, I need you to let go right. . .now!” Harry let go, falling to the floor as Ron slammed his arm down, bringing the club crashing down on the troll’s head with a loud crack. Harry scrambled away, avoiding the troll as it fell to the floor, narrowly avoiding shoving Harry’s wand further up its nose.

Hermione stared from Ron to Harry, the screaming forgotten and her more confused from the entire ordeal. Looking to Ron she opened her mouth before Harry interrupted from the floor. “Ron wanted to apologise,” he explained. “That’s why we’re here.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah sure, we were just passing by. Also uh, sorry, I guess, about earlier that is.”

Hermione looked from the two boys in front of her to her hands and the surrounding bathroom, seemingly speechless. All three of them stood in silence before they heard voices coming from outside.

“Ah, finally,” Harry said, still prone on the floor. “Help has arrived.”

Ron paced back and forth, in a sudden panic. “Oh no, my parents are going to kill me. Ok here’s the story, we found it like this. Sound good?”

The blank look from Hermione told him all he needed to know.

After a moment professor McGonagall followed by the headmaster and the rest of the faculty entered the bathroom, almost slipping upon entry. Taking in the sight that greeted them, the teachers seemed more confused than anything else. “What happened here Mr. Weasely?” professor McGonagall asked. Her eyes widened upon seeing Harry on the floor. “Is that Harry Potter? Is he dead?”

“Nope, I’m fine,” Harry called, raising his arm to display an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Well you see professor,” Ron started before being cut off by none other than Hermione.

“It was me professor,” she said, standing up. “I was feeling cocky today after performing my first spell perfectly and I felt invincible. I thought I could do anything. Harry and Ron followed to try and stop me,” she said, nodding to Harry and Ron. “When it came down to it Ron and Harry did all the work while I just cowered in a corner.”

Professor McGonagall looked from Hermione to Harry and finally to Ron who seemed to mirror her expression. Collecting herself she frowned. “That was very unwise of you Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor for sheer stupidity, now all of you get out of here before I give anyone detention.”

Ron looked to Harry and Hermione then nodded. “Sounds good,” he said. “Let’s go guys. We’ve got a Hallows Eve feast to finish.”

As they left the bathroom and headed to the great hall Harry stopped them to stare at professor Snape who was just arriving, trailing drops of blood in his wake. “That’s not suspicious at all,” Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione.

Just before passing out of earshot Ron heard professor Flitwick exclaim, “Two first years against a troll! I think I’ve seen everything.”

Ron smirked as they moved off, putting his arms around Harry and Hermione’s shoulders. “Come on guys, killing trolls makes me hungry.”


	15. Hanging Out

_Dear Diary_

_Something strange happened and I’m not completely sure what. I had retired to the bathroom during the Halloween feast to wash my face. The next thing I know there’s a giant monstrosity smashing through the toilets with a giant wooden club. I thought I was dead for sure but as it was about to kill me, these two boys showed up and basically killed the monstrosity(which I later learned was a troll). In fact it was mainly the redhead who did all the work while none other than Harry Potter, the living legend, thought it was a good idea to tackle the troll in a bear hug._  
Thankfully we’re all still alive. One mystery that’s keeping me confused is how the redhead actually managed to lift the troll’s club with a simple levitation spell. It’s supposed to take years to develop that spell to lift anything heavier than the average human carrying capacity. It’s good for starting with magic but once we start second year they’re going to tell us to forget the levitation spell and we only use the gravity defying spells such as the locomotor.  
Well I guess I’ll have to ask him, but I might let it wait. 

Surprisingly nobody actually knew what happened to the troll. Rumours were flying about, building entire plotlines featuring the headmaster battling the troll with a blindfold and a phoenix shooting flame from its eyes. So it was to be expected that when Ron boasted about taking the troll out by his lonesome, nobody paid him any heed. In fact, the whole troll story ensured that nobody noticed the person that had started spending her free time with Harry and Ron.

There still wasn’t much difference as compared to before, Ron still found everything she said annoying and Hermione still couldn’t stop the spurt of ‘I’m smarter than you’ that sounded whenever she spoke, but the difference were the small grins the two shared at the end of every argument.

In fact, save for the new topics in conversation, Hogwarts was basically unchanged. There was however one person that had changed slightly from the event and nobody besides for Harry seemed to have noticed.

“Has he always limped like that?” Harry asked to no one in particular as their Potions class ended.

Standing up and stuffing his books into a bag, Ron smirked. “You’re being paranoid mate.”

Harry shook his head adamantly. “I’m serious, on the night with the troll, I saw blood trailing from him. We were with the troll, so how did he get injured?”

“What I’m more interested in,” Hermione said, interrupting the conversation. “Is how that troll got into the castle.”

“That’s easy,” Ron said. “Hallows Eve.”

“Yeah it was Halloween,” Hermione said. “So what?”

“Hallows Eve is a time when magic is stronger because of a weakening of barriers. It wouldn’t ordinarily be possible to bring a troll in with a summoning spell, but on Hallows Eve it would be possible to find a weakness in the wards around the school and exploit it. Apparently without Dumbledore even noticing.”

Hermione nodded her understanding. “So that’s how you managed to levitate the troll’s club?”

Ron frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well ordinarily it would be impossible to lift such a great weight with the spell you used, but you managed with ease because it was Halloween,” Hermione explained.

Ron blinked before smiling sheepishly. “Oh yeah, I guess. That makes sense. That’s obviously the only explanation and what a good explanation it is.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow but not inquiring further.

“You guys are missing the point,” Harry insisted, finally having managed to stuff all of his books into his bag and head towards the classroom door. “While everyone was searching for a troll, Snape was doing something that made him bleed.”

“Maybe it was his time of the month,” Ron said, wiggling his eyebrows at Hermione, who responded with disgust. “Besides Harry, you do have a penchant for seeking out excitement.”

“I do not,” Harry said defensively.

“Weren’t you the one that thought it was a good idea to piggyback on a troll?” Hermione said.

“Wasn’t I the one that saved your life?” Harry pointed out.

“I know,” Hermione said. “And I’m grateful. But it wasn’t the best of well thought out ideas. You must agree.”

Harry sighed. “That doesn’t change the facts. Snape was bleeding and there’s not any good reason why.”

“You honestly can’t think of any reasons he could be bleeding that night?” Ron asked sceptically. “Like say after hearing there was a troll, Snape drops his steak knife in panic and stabs himself in the leg.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “He has a point. You’re being paranoid.”

“Maybe you two could use some paranoia,” Harry replied. “Anyway, I need to go. I have practice. I’ll see you guys later.”

*

After Flitwick’s first practical lesson, the spells started to flow in, almost as if the teachers were in a panic from the troll incident. Obviously that wasn’t the case, the reality was that if any of the students had to learn any more theory they would probably start a riot or stop showing up to lessons. Even Hermione admitted, after some prompting from Ron, that she was somewhat fed up with learning ancient Aztec texts.

Unfortunately, magic, as it turned out, was very boring. Professor McGonagall had them trying to transfigure a match into a needle, which was long gruelling work that made levitation look like child’s play. Or that’s what all the other students claimed, Harry on the other hand was still having difficulty even levitating a feather. Ron also seemed to be having difficulty, but that may have been because he incessantly continued to pronounce the spells wrong while also doing the wrong movements.

Harry’s one redemption from his constant failures was Quidditch practice. For the most part he just flew around learning to recognise the golden glint of the snitch from different angles in different light. While the game itself was mostly free flying for Harry followed by a sudden rush, it was also the one time in the day that Harry actually felt alive, especially as he’d been feeling particularly lifeless since they’d started doing practical magic. It was always the worst in Defence Against the Dark Arts(DADA). Ron reckoned that Harry was a vampire and the garlic that professor Quirrel always wore was making him feel bad. Hermione had theorised that Harry was allergic to magic. She still had yet to prove that anything like that existed.

So maybe it was the garlic that was making Harry feel bad, and maybe it was the magic. What mattered is that Quidditch made Harry feel better. “So why do I feel so nauseous?” Harry exclaimed at breakfast.

“Sorry mate, what?” Ron asked a piece of toast falling out of his mouth.

Harry turned to Ron, only noticing his presence right then. “Hmm, oh nothing, just thinking aloud.”

“Uh oh,” Ron said, his toast falling out of his mouth. “I think you’re in trouble.”

“Why?” Harry asked, turning to face whatever Ron was looking at. What he saw was professor McGonagall holding an oblong object threateningly while heading straight for Harry. “Oh. . .no.”

“Oh yes,” professor McGonagall said, slamming the oblong object down on the table. “And if you don’t win so help me,” she said. “Also good luck,” she finished, doing something with her mouth that Ron would swear later was a smile.

After leaving Harry and Ron unwrapped the oblong object to reveal a broom. “Ooh varnish,” said Harry.

Ron wasn’t able to close his mouth to comment.

“Cat got your tongue?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. “More like a nimbus two thousand.”

“What?”

“That broom,” it’s a nimbus two thousand,” Ron said excitedly. “Do you know what speeds you can get up to on that?”

Harry looked at the broom. “Ron, it’s just a broom. You fly with the thing, or sweep with it.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Sweep with a nimbus two thousand? Are you insane?”

“Does it shoot laser beams then? Harry asked.

“What’s a laser beam?”

*

Harry was relaxing. Fred and George had been doing a good job keeping the soul possessed balls from knocking into him and the snitch had been mysteriously absent for most of the game, still he’d done his best to keep it in his sight. Two hours were nearly up and Gryffindor was basically tied with Slytherin. Harry’s anticipation rose as the clock ticked while also keeping a searching eye out.

Finding the snitch he began following it from a distance, so as not to give away the position to the Slytherin seeker. It would only be a matter of time before. . .Harry felt his stomach lurch. Was he about to throw up?

He felt the sensation again, this time not just in his stomach but throughout his body. The next lurch threw Harry bodily off the broom, Harry only managed to catch himself in the last second. The broom lurched again. Harry was suddenly thankful he had eaten so little at breakfast.

Thinking quickly he searched the crowd for Ron and then for Snape. Ron and Hermione were sitting together which made things a bit easier. Harry caught their eyes and thrust his head towards the teacher stands a few times until they got the message. Hermione grabbed Ron and they both disappeared. The broom lurched again and Harry held on for dear life. All he could do now was wait.

*

Ron and Hermione were moving as fast as possible. That is to say not very fast. “Do you really think he was jinxing Harry’s broom?” Ron asked.

Hermione bit her lip. “It’s hard to say. He was staring at Harry and mouthing something, but it’s entirely possible that he was trying to use a counterjinx.”

Ron frowned. “He’s had it out for Harry since day one. It could be that he’s just trying to mess with the game a bit in Slytherin’s favour.”

Reaching the teacher stands Hermione faced Ron and took a breath. “It doesn’t matter right now. What should we do?”

Ron shrugged. “When in doubt use fire.”

Hermione looked sceptical. “That’s not a real saying.”

“Fred and George seem to think so,” Ron said. “We don’t have fire any way.”

Hermione smirked. “What type of wizard are you anyway?” she asked pulling out her wand and pointing it at Snape’s black cloak. Saying a quick incantation, the cloak seemed to vibrate for a moment before catching alight. “That should do it,” she said. “Shall we get back?”

Ron stared at the fire agape. “Huh? Oh yeah, sounds good.”

*

“Any minute now,” Harry muttered to himself. He wasn’t sure himself whether he was referring to his friends saving him or to his grip failing. Ultimately the smell of smoke decided the answer. A few high pitched screams in the teacher stands and Harry’s broom stopped moving. “I could kiss you guys,” Harry said to himself, immediately reconsidering the statement and pulling himself up on the broom.


	16. Hey Look Ma, No Body

_Dear Diary_

_I think that I may have finally found friends. They’re both boys, but they’re still loads more interesting to speak to than my roommates. Harry can’t do magic, he’s good at the theory and may even be more fluent in ancient Hebrew than myself but when it comes to doing magic he can’t seem to do anything. It’s almost as if he’s a muggle that they accidentally let in. Maybe it has something to do with the curse mark on his head, very dark magic there.  
Ron claims he’s also terrible at magic but I don’t believe Ron. He constantly acts like he’s inept but I’ve seen him sneaking in magic when he thinks no one is looking. Just the fact that he has full control of his familiar should be proof to the contrary.  
Harry won his first legitimate quidditch game. I don’t really see any appeal in the sport, but if all the games are that exciting I think I’ll be able to tolerate it. Although I don’t think broom possession is a common occurrence. And apparently that’s the first time anyone has caught the snitch with their mouth. Poor Harry, he’s set an expectation, they’re never going to let him forget this.  
  
_

The winter solstice festival, which Harry insisted on calling Christmas, came upon Hogwarts quicker than anyone had expected. Hermione had gone back home for the break to be with her family, leaving Ron to play chess against himself and Harry to be hopelessly bored.

“How can I break any rules if we’re on break. We’re allowed to do anything. Filch can’t even get us detention if we get caught,” Harry groaned.

Ron perked up from his chess set. “You want to get detention?”

“No. But it definitely takes the thrill out of it,” Harry said.

“You could always try the third floor corridor, or the forbidden forest,” Ron said, going back to his game.

“Heavily considering it,” Harry replied. “But I promised Hermione that I wasn’t going to the third floor corridor without consulting her first, and the forbidden forest is too cold.”

“Sounds like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Maybe you should do your homework,” Ron suggested.

Harry snorted. “When hell freezes over.”

*

“Ron. I think your mum accidentally sent me one of your awful jumpers,” Harry said, wiping sleep out of his eyes and throwing the jumper at Ron.

Rising from his bed, Ron held out the jumper and threw it back at Harry. “It’s yours. She makes a new one every year. Apparently she decided you’re part of the family.”

Looking at the jumper then back at Ron, Harry’s face tinged red. “Oh, uh, I guess it’s a nice jumper,” Harry said, stuffing the jumper on backwards. “Very nice.”

Ron groaned, laying back in bed. “Wake me when Christmas is over.”

Harry continued to rummage through the boxes that had been addressed to him. “Hey Ron, someone sent me this coat, how do I look?”

Ron turned his head and blinked a couple of times. “Either I’m dreaming or your head is floating,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

Harry looked down at his body. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“I don’t think amazing is the correct word, more like unbelievable, as in I don’t believe it,” Ron said, suddenly very awake. Getting out of his bed he moved over to Harry and started prodding him. “It’s a cloak of invisibility.”

“It’s not normal?” Harry asked.

“Let’s put it like this, the invisibility cloak is about as rare as you are,” Ron said, taking a step back and staring at Harry’s bodiless head. “Do you know what you can do with this type of thing?” he said, grinning widely.

Harry mirrored the grin. “Sneak into the third floor corridor?”

Ron’s face fell slightly. “Well yeah, that too.”

“It’s big enough to fit both of us, we can go now if you want,” Harry offered.

Ron sighed. “Are you going to go anyway?”

Harry nodded eagerly.

“Fine, let me just put my slippers on.”

*

“Ok it’s official, we’re lost,” said Ron to nobody in particular.

“You say lost,” Harry whispered. “I say adventure.”

“Who decided to stuff a mirror in the middle of nowhere anyway,” Ron asked, taking in the abandoned classroom. Running a finger along the floor Ron held up a thick layer of dust. “I think we’re the first people to come in here for some time.”

Ignoring Ron, Harry removed the cloak and moved over to the mirror. “Whoa, come look at this.”

Eyeing the door, Ron crept to where Harry was standing. “As much as I’m sure your reflection is wonderful to look at I’m not in the mood right now,” he said.

“It’s not that. Come and see,” Harry said.

Ron stepped in front of the mirror and blinked, his cheeks darkening in the already dark room. “That’s. . .not ordinary.”

“Who are they?” Harry asked in wonder.

Ron shook his head. “They? I only see one person.”

“We’re not seeing the same thing?” Harry asked. “What do you see?”

“How about, you tell me what you can see first,” Ron said reluctantly.

“There’s a man with glasses who looks similar to me and a woman with red hair and green eyes like mine. I think they’re my parents Ron,” Harry said, not able to take his eyes of the mirror. “What do you see?”

Ron eyed the floor, scratching the side of his head. “Hmm, oh, well, I guess I see myself as head boy and top of my class and I guess I have a girlfriend, oh and I’m Quidditch captain and I’m holding a bunch of trophies.”

Harry gave Ron a lopsided look before returning his gaze to the mirror. “Ok, don’t tell me.”

“Erised,” Ron replied.

“What?” asked Harry.

“At the top of the mirror. Someone carved a word into the wood. Erised,” Ron answered.

“It spells desire backwards,” Harry pointed out.

“Wow Harry. You can read,” Ron said cynically. “It would explain a lot though.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what you saw?” Harry asked.

“Not a chance in hell,” Ron responded. “On a completely unrelated topic how do you feel about me borrowing your invisibility cloak sometime?”


	17. Cerberus

_Dear Diary_

_It was nice to be back with the family. My mom and dad were happy to hear that I’m doing well, considering previous occurrences. I don’t think they understood anything I was speaking about throughout my stay. Even now I’m starting to see that there’s a great differentiation between muggles and wizards. I doubt we would ever be able to live together peacefully._  
In more exciting news, Ron sent me a knitted jumper with my name on it and Harry sent me a book that I had already read and memorised, but it’s the thought that count.  
We have a free day before our break is over and the boys are insisting they have a great day scheduled for me, full of wonder and mystery. I’m not sure if I should be looking forward to it or not.

“Are you sure this makes us invisible?” Hermione asked, pressed up in between Ron and Harry under Harry’s invisibility cloak.

“Either that, or Filch has walked past me twenty times because of my ninja skills,” Harry replied. “Now hush, Snape likes to hang around here.”

They walked in silence for some time before arriving at the old classroom which was now somewhat cleaner than it had been before. Harry waited until they were standing right in front of the mirror to pull the cloak off.

Hermione stared at the mirror. “Ok, what now?”

“What do you see?” Ron asked eagerly.

Hermione looked at him strangely. “Just our reflections. Should I be seeing anything different?”

Harry frowned. “What exactly do you see?”

Hermione laughed slightly. “Seriously, it’s the same. Just me with my arms around the two of you.”

Harry looked at Ron. “Maybe it only works on men?”

Ron looked unsure. “Maybe.”

*

“That’s definitely breathing. Yeah, it’s a prison, Dumbledore is keeping his enemies locked away in Hogwarts,” said Ron.

“It could be wind,” Harry pointed out. “Or maybe it’s a golem.”

“Golems don’t exist,” Ron said. “Not since the 1800’s.”

“This is Dumbledore, remember,” Hermione said. “He found seventeen new uses for dragon’s blood, helped Nicholas Flamel with many of his projects and he killed the famous Gellert Grindelwald. He could create a golem no doubt.”

“Or be keeping prisoners,” Ron pointed out.

“I suppose,” Hermione conceded.

Harry glanced at the others. “So when are we actually going to try and get inside?” he asked.

Both Ron and Hermione gave Harry the most perplexed look they could manage. “Why on earth would we try to get in there?” Hermione, the voice of reason, asked.

“To see what’s inside obviously,” Harry said.

“Harry, even assuming we could get past the extensive security that Dumbledore no doubt has on that door, there is absolutely no reason there would be anything inside there we would want to see,” said Hermione.

“Maybe its forbidden knowledge,” Harry countered.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond then closed it again. “I barely know the permitted knowledge, I think I can wait a while for the forbidden.”

Harry smirked and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say any more.

“Well I guess that can wait for another day, as of right now I need to write five essays all of which are due for tomorrow,” Ron said, steering Harry and Hermione away from the forbidden door on the third floor corridor.

“Five essays? Ron?” Hermione exclaimed aghast. “We only received one essay before the break.”

“Ah Hermione my dear,” Ron said. “I have so much to teach you.”

*

“Did you see that? It moved,” Harry shouted excitedly, jumping from his chair.

“Sorry,” Hermione said sheepishly. “I knocked the table.”

Harry’s face fell. “Oh.” Hanging his head in desperation Harry sighed. “I’m never going to get this, am I?”

“You just need to keep trying Harry, you’ll get it eventually,” Hermione tried to reassure him.

“Oh yeah? How do you know?” Harry asked before hanging his head again.

Hermione didn’t seem to know how to answer. “How about after our classes today we’ll go to the library and try to find something?” she suggested.

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said. “Can Ron come?.”

“He can come,” Hermione smiled. “If he’s fine with setting foot in a library.”

*

“So this is what the library looks like. I thought there would be more books,” Ron said, looking around.

Hermione ignored him, possibly because he didn’t have anything intelligent to say but it was also possible that she hadn’t heard him. In fact Hermione hadn’t responded to anything for the past twenty minutes. Hermione suddenly slammed a book shut, shoving it to the side. “It’s pointless,” she exclaimed, receiving a ‘shush’ from the librarian. Standing up she moved over to the shelf, her eyes roving over the books and stopping at an empty space. Looking back at Harry and Ron she seemed confused. “Did either of you take a book out of this shelf?”

Ron looked aghast at the thought while Harry shook his head.

“That’s strange,” Hermione muttered to herself. “You two wait here, I’m going to ask Madame Pince about this.”

“No Hermione, don’t leave us alone in a library, who knows what could happen to us,” Ron begged.

Hermione ignored him again as per usual.

She returned shortly later looking even more confused than usual. “She says it was removed sometime around sixty years ago. It’s in the forbidden section.”

Harry smiled, possibly for the first time that day. “You know what this means?”

Neither Ron nor Hermione looked like they wanted to know what it meant.

*

“Guys, I just realised something that you’re not going to want to hear,” Harry whispered.

“I don’t think there’s anything that could spoil my mood further right now,” Hermione retorted.

“No, you’re wrong,” Harry disagreed. “It’s pretty bad. I forgot to bring my cloak.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks. “You did what? Do you want us to get detention? Let’s go back.”

“It’s too late now,” Ron said. “Let’s just see if they have the book and get out of here.”

Hermione didn’t bother to protest, moving on instead in silence. Stopping and bending down Hermione started paging through a book, Harry and Ron keeping lookout on either side of her.

“So how long is this going to take?” Ron asked. “Much as I enjoy breaking very strict school rules I would rather not get detention for trying to read a book. That would ruin what little reputation I’ve worked so hard to earn.”

“You could do with reading more books,” Hermione muttered. “It would do you some good.”

“Is that what you think? Name me one person whose life changed because they read a book,” Ron retorted. “That’s right nobody that you can bring up within the next five seconds.”

“Uh guys,” Harry retorted. “Filch’s cat is here.”

Hermione shoved the book back onto the shelf and stood up. “Filch’s familiar? Where?”

Harry pointed.

“Oh no. This isn’t good. He must be close. We need to run,” Hermione said, panicking.

“Run where?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere. Let’s just go,” Hermione replied, holding her head.

Ron looked back and forth at the aisles of books. “Fine. But you’re not going to like it.”

*

“Who on earth told you about this shortcut, Ron?” Hermione asked.

“Fred and George. They’ve had a lot of experience with detention and getting out of it. They told me about this one, probably hoping that I’d try it out,” Ron answered. “Obviously I’m not that stupid, but apparently my friends are.”

“Well we’re not out of it yet,” Harry said. “Filch’s cat is still on our tail.”

“We have to be careful now, one wrong move and. . .” Ron’s was interrupted by a voice none of them wanted to hear.

“Students? Where?” Filch asked his cat from around the corner. Merely a step from stumbling on the three students.

“Oh no,” Ron said, backing up against the only door in the corridor. “We’re done for.”

Feeling the door, Hermione’s face became determined. “Not yet we’re not.” Pulling her wand out, she pointed it at the door and muttered something under her breath. A soft click sounded and the door swung open, sending Ron stumbling in followed by Harry and finally Hermione who locked the door after them. Putting her ear to the door, Hermione listened until she heard Filch’s footsteps fade into silence. Sighing in relief she slumped against the door. “We’re good,” she said. “We’re ok.”

“Hermione,” Harry whispered. “Open the door.”

“You don’t have to whisper anymore, Harry, he’s gone,” she said loudly and turned to him. Harry’s hand being shoved over her mouth stifled a shriek as she saw what was laid out in front of them. Removing it slowly, he pointed at the gigantic sleeping two headed dog. “Oh wow,” Hermione whispered. “I’ve read about these. I always thought they had three heads though.”

“Guys,” Ron whimpered, looking up. “There are three heads.” And then the other two heads woke up.

“Hermione, hurry!” Harry shouted, throwing all caution to the wind.

They only just made it out of the room, slamming the door behind them and hearing the satisfying three slumps of dog heads hitting against wood. Locking the door, Hermione slid to the ground and sighed. “We’re on the third floor corridor, aren’t we.”

Ron nodded. “That’s why I never use the shortcut.”

Both Ron and Hermione seemed to be relieved to be alive but Harry was beaming. “Why would Dumbledore keep a giant three headed dog on the third floor corridor?” Harry voiced aloud to no one in particular.

“It’s for the trapdoor,” Hermione said automatically, clapping her hand to her mouth in horror as she saw Harry’s grin grow wider.

“Trapdoor?” Harry asked eagerly.

Hermione glanced at Ron who was giving her an angry glare. Sighing she answered, “The dog was standing on a trapdoor, clearly guarding something very important.”

“Either that, or it’s the new punishment they give people who go snooping where they shouldn’t,” Ron said, sounding tired.

“Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Harry asked, still grinning madly.

“I’m thinking that we never come up to the third floor corridor ever again before we get ripped to shreds or expelled,” Hermione said.

“Fine with me,” Ron said.

Harry looked slightly defeated but he had a feeling that he would be going down there sometime soon. The trapdoor called to him and he wanted nothing more than to answer.


	18. How to Train Your Dragon

_Dear Diary_

_I don’t even have the words. Giant three headed dogs guarding ambiguous something or other. How. . .odd. After going through a book in the restricted section of the library, I’m starting to realise that Hogwarts has a lot of secrets. Some darker than others. Although that vent to the restricted section was quite the pleasing find. I need to remember that one. Maybe Harry will let me borrow his cloak sometime.  
It would seem that nothing attracts the dark wizard more than the concept of death. Fascinating! I wonder if anyone’s managed to avoid it yet, besides for Nicholas Flamel of course._

Harry felt like going to visit Hagrid. Partially because he hadn’t met Hermione and partially because Harry had a feeling that something fun was going to happen at Hagrid’s. He hadn’t told Ron and Hermione about that last bit though.

“Hagrid,” Harry called, knocking on the door. “It’s Harry. Social call, nothing more.”

“Are his windows normally boarded up?” Hermione asked, eyeing the side of Hagrid’s hut. “Maybe he’s out.”

“That is strange,” Harry conceded. Knocking again he stood and waited.

After a minute or so the door to the hut inched open slightly revealing an eye. “Are you alone?” Hagrid asked.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I have Ron and Hermione with me.”

“Who?” Hagrid asked, opening the door slightly wider to see the people next to Harry. Giving the pathway behind them a cursory glance he opened the door wide enough to allow them inside, shutting the door behind them and locking it. “It’s a long story,” Hagrid started. “But the short of it is that I’ve gotten myself into a mess.”

*

As it turned out, Hagrid had traded some expertise on caring for dangerous creatures with an old dragon egg. Except it turned out the dragon egg wasn’t old and after a few days of being kept in Hagrid’s warm hut, had hatched. Hagrid now had a baby dragon and no idea where to put it.

“Why don’t you just get the headmaster to help you?” Hermione asked.

Hagrid’s eyes widened and Ron nudged Hermione shaking his head. “You do remember that Dumbledore discovered seventeen new uses for dragon’s blood, right?” Ron whispered in her ear.

“Dumbledore’s a very busy man,” Hagrid said. “Much busier this year than usual.”

“So what can we do about it, Hagrid?” Harry asked. Receiving glares from Harry and Hermione.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing,” Hagrid said. “Not unless one of you knows someone that takes care of dragons that also doesn’t work for the ministry.”

Harry’s face fell. “I didn’t even know about dragons until today, sorry we can’t help,” he said.

“It’s alright,” Hagrid said. “I’ll figure it. . .”

Ron perked up, interrupting Hagrid. “Actually I think I might be able to help. Do you remember my cousin Charlie? He works with dragons. I would need to ask him first but. . .” Ron stopped after noticing tears coursing down Hagrid’s face.

“You would do that for me?” Hagrid asked, on the verge of bawling.

“Sure,” Ron said uneasily. “It’s just a letter.”

Hagrid grabbed Ron’s hand and clasped it in between his own giant hands, making Ron’s hand seem insect-like in comparison. “If this works, I’ll be forever in your debt young Weasely.” Ron looked to Harry and Hermione for help, receiving shrugs in return.

*

“Cerberus!” Hermione exclaimed, slamming a book down in front of Harry and Ron, making both of them jump. “It’s just a big dog.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other then back at Hermione. “Yes Hermione,” Ron said. “It’s just a big, man-eating, three headed dog. What does that have to do with giving us a heart attack while we’re doing our homework?” Ron asked, clearly annoyed.

“You were doing homework? You never do homework?” Hermione said.

Ron nodded. “Snape got Dumbledore to threaten to expel me if I didn’t catch up all my homework since Christmas and continue doing it for the rest of the year. Then Dumbledore inquired after all my other teachers as well and threatened to write to my mum. So in summary I’m doing my homework now.”

Hermione took a moment to process the information before shaking her head and pressing on. “Whatever. The main point is that it’s just a big dog. It’s not a sphinx or some other magical guardian, it’s a dog.”

“It doesn’t have any magical properties?” Harry asked, his interest piqued.

“Save for the extra two heads and the massive body, no,” Hermione replied.

“That is odd,” Harry said.

Ron looked at both of them and threw up his hands. “I give up. What’s odd?”

“Why is a very powerful, very influential wizard guarding a trapdoor with a three headed dog instead of say, just using a normal locking charm on the door which is probably much more effective,” Hermione said in one breath.

Harry nodded in agreement.

“So what are you trying to say?” Ron asked.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it,” Hermione said. “It’s a trap. Dumbledore wants someone to go down there.”

Ron frowned. “Like Harry?”

“No of course not,” she said. A flicker of doubt crossed her face. “At least I hope not. But I’ve been thinking, Harry says he saw Snape limping after the troll attack which was obviously sent as a distraction, to get everyone away from the third floor corridor but when he got there he didn’t realise there would be a giant dog and he got injured.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “And then he tried to kill me in Quidditch.”

Hermione frowned. “It’s not all about you Harry. You know that, right?”

“No no, this sounds good. Let Harry continue. Maybe Snape is actually You Know Who in disguise, waiting for the past eleven years to strike and he finally has his chance to strike. Or better yet, You Know Who was actually Snape’s subordinate and it was in fact his plan to kill Harry this whole time. But why stop there. Maybe Snape is actually Grindelwald and. . .okay, yeah I’m done, but give me a few more minutes and I can come up with more,” Ron said cynically.

“Who’s Grindelwald?” Harry asked.

“Never mind that,” Hermione interrupted. “What is your problem?” she directed to Ron.

“Oh nothing,” Ron said. “I love fairy tales as much as anyone else. Whether Snape is evil is one question but there’s almost absolutely no chance its Snape’s doing. Dumbledore knows everything about him. There’s more chance of Quirrel being responsible than Snape.”

Sighing, Hermione didn’t bother to reply, changing the topic instead. “Any updates from your brother about the You Know What?” she asked in an undertone.

“Actually yeah. I was going to tell you about it. We’re moving Nor. . .,” he paused, an uncomfortable look on his face. “We’re moving Norbert on Saturday night at midnight. Be in the common room at twenty three hundred hours,” he whispered. Then aloud, “What in the bloody hell type of name is Norbert?”

*

Saturday night came far too quickly in Ron’s opinion. In fact it seemed that he was the only one that wasn’t excited by the idea of breaking curfew to stay up late in the night and carry a dragon up multiple stairs all the while huddling under Harry’s cloak. Besides for his missing sleep it was just a bad idea. He didn’t understand why Hagrid couldn’t do it himself.

Harry was excited as per his usual whenever they were about to do something stupid, but Hermione was unbearable. Apparently she had never done something so blatantly against the rules before, apparently the forbidden section in the library didn’t count, and the anticipation of breaking said rules had her on edge. Ron wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to back out last minute.

Visiting Hagrid the afternoon before their dastardly deeds took place felt a little bit like asking for trouble, but Hermione insisted they do so if only to discuss the plan with Hagrid again. While Ron, Harry and Hermione carried the baby dragon, Hagrid would be distracting Filch and his familiar.

“Hagrid, how do you distract a familiar?” Hermione asked while Ron tried to get out of a staring contest with the dragon.

Hagrid, who doubled as the beast keeper in Hogwarts when he wasn’t keeping the keys smiled broadly, happy to be able to talk about something no one else was interested in. “All familiars have their quirks. Take fluffy for example, just play him some music and he falls asleep. Mrs. Norris on the other hand, just give her a bowl of milk and she’ll be out of your hair for a good amount of time.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I know Mrs. Norris is Filch’s cat but who is Fluffy?” she asked.

Hagrid blinked for a moment, his eyes widening as if realising he had said something wrong. He opened his mouth to say something but was saved by a yell from Ron.

“Ow! Bloody. . .damn, that hurts! Why is it green?” he said, panicked, before faltering and falling against the table.

Hagrid peered over at Ron’s hand which was indeed turning slime green. “That’s not good,” Hagrid said, making Ron pale.

“Not helping Hagrid,” Harry muttered, pulling Ron’s arm over his shoulder. “We should get him to the hospital wing,” he said and helped Ron hobble over to the door, even as Ron seemed to be collapsing under his own weight. Opening the door Harry glanced over his shoulder and called, “We’ll be back tonight, Hagrid. Be ready. And don’t let your dragon bite anyone else,” before slamming into Draco Malfoy.

“Oh sh...” Harry started before Draco turned on his heel and ran the other way. “Do you think he heard?” Harry asked, turning to Hermione.

Hermione didn’t bother to answer. “That’s not good,” she muttered. “Not good at all.”

*

Madame Pomfrey, the woman that ran the hospital wing, didn’t ask any questions. Harry wasn’t quite sure if it was merely disinterest or the realisation that she wasn’t going to hear the truth no matter what she asked. Either way no more details of the dragon were divulged and besides for the small problem that Ron had to stay in the hospital wing all night, all was good.

“Look at it on the bright side,” Harry muttered to Hermione from under the invisibility cloak as they trudged up the many steps Hogwarts had to offer while carrying the dragon in a small wooden box. “We could be trying to fit Ron under here as well.”

Hermione remained silent. The excitement that came from breaking the rules was probably getting to her. After a while she whispered. “Do you think he’s alright?”

Harry shrugged, then realised she probably wasn’t able to see him in the dark. “Ron’s tough, his brothers made sure of that. I don’t think a little dragon bite could hurt him that much. Besides, Madame Pomfrey said he would be fine.”

“I suppose,” Hermione said.

From then on the silence of the castle was permeated only occasionally by the snoring of one of the portraits or their panting as they pulled the box up. When they finally reached the top, they were both exhausted physically and mentally. Throwing off the cloak, Harry knelt down and started drawing the Weasely family crest on the floor with a piece of chalk. Hermione grunted as she placed the box in the centre of the hexagram that Harry was drawing. She pointed her wand at the floor and said something, immediately the chalk drawing lit up bright red, making it look like a flare.

Dusting off his hands, Harry sighed in relief. “I’m surprised that went off without a hitch,” he said. Let’s get back before Hagrid’s distraction wears off.” Nodding, Hermione followed silently as they made their way down to the Gryffindor common room.

Rounding a corner, Harry experienced a vague feeling of déjà vu as he slammed into a figure, knocking him to the floor with Harry tripping over his legs and falling in turn. Upon closer inspection the figure turned out to be none other than Draco Malfoy, who had taken the opportunity of his current position to start screaming inanities at Harry.

“Get off, Potter, you’re soiling my robes. Wait until my father hears about this,” were some examples. Hermione’s shriek added to the cacophony when she saw Filch’s familiar and then Filch shouting at the three of them just increased the volume. “This is so your fault, Potter,” Draco muttered. For some reason Harry couldn’t help but agree.


	19. Taste the Rainbow

_Dear Diary_  
I finally received my first detention and it was well deserved. Yet for some reason it doesn’t bother me so. Harry and I were coming back from transporting Hagrid’s dragon up countless flights of stairs while Ron slept and played chess against himself, and Harry rugby tackled Draco, taking the poor boy down a few pegs from where he normally hangs about. I don’t know about Harry but I think it was absolutely worth it just to get Malfoy in trouble. I mean honestly, he sounds so insufferable in class, just because he had an advanced education and has money one would think he’s royalty. He’s definitely not helping the pureblood stereotype.  
Ron seems to have taken his night in the hospital to heart because he now spends every night playing chess against himself instead of trying to convince me that books are a waste of time. He did play a lot on weekends but this is a new and disturbing habit he’s gotten himself. When asked about it he blamed the headmaster. I’m not quite sure if he’s being serious. Perhaps the dragon bite did more than make his hand green, or maybe it’s the hospital medication, I don’t know much about magical healing but it’s hopefully more pleasant than muggle medication.

“You know, when Hagrid promised us that he would sort out the detention problem I really thought that meant we would get to do something easy, like keeping keys or something,” Harry whispered to Hermione out of earshot of Hagrid while stepping over the biggest tree root he’d ever seen. “I didn’t expect to be shoved out to the forbidden forest in the middle of the night,” he finished a little louder than he had intended.

Draco looked over his shoulder at Harry’s sudden outburst. “Could you keep it down, Potter. I don’t want you calling the werewolves down on us.”

Harry was not in the mood. “What are you going to do about it Malfoy? Tell your daddy?”

Draco looked like he wanted to tell him that he would indeed tell his father but merely replied with a sneer and turned back to what Hagrid would call a path. “I’m going to tell my father about this detention though. Putting students in the forbidden forest with a half breed, my father will hear about this,” Draco managed to mutter to himself.

“What was that Malfoy? I thought I heard you say something about your father, or were you just praying?” Harry called. Draco however, having learned from the previous encounter, ignored Harry. “For a forest that’s supposed to be able to kill us, this place is pretty boring,” Harry said to Hermione, not bothering to lower his volume.

Hagrid tilted his head and stopped to look at Harry. “You want something to happen?” he asked, very confused.

Harry shook his head. “No, but it is kind of a let-down. I half expected there to at least be a three headed dog or something.”

Hagrid smiled. “Well that would have been true a few months ago but Fluffy doesn’t live in the forest anymore. Besides, nothing will attack you while I’m here, not even the acromantulas. But that’s not what we’re here for tonight,” Hagrid breezed on even as Harry tried to ask what an acromantula was and Hermione said something about Fluffy, which seemed to put Hagrid more on edge. “Someone’s been killing unicorns and draining their blood. We need to find out who it is and stop them. If not that, at least find the other unicorns and get them into protection.”

“We’re hunting vampires?” Harry asked.

Hagrid shook his head. “Vampires don’t drink unicorn blood, it would kill them. This is a different kind of beast. Alright I figure we’ll cover more ground if we split up. Hermione, you’re with me, Harry and Mr. Malfoy, you’re with Fang,” he said pointing to the dog that had been following them until now. “If you find anything, send up a flare, blue if you find something, red for danger. Now get moving, all of you need to be back in your common rooms before midnight, not to mention that all the worst things come out at midnight.” With that, Hagrid moved off at an alarming speed for a man his size, Hermione in tow, trying, failing to keep up.

Harry looked at Draco and opened his mouth to say something but Draco was already moving off in the opposite direction. Shrugging, Harry followed. He didn’t mind some silence, maybe if they were quiet enough they would stumble on something dangerous. Wait, no, that wasn’t something to hope for. If only Ron were with him, he would be able to set his priorities straight.

Fang led the way more than Draco, even though Draco went first, Fang would take odd and random turns forcing Draco to backtrack and run ahead of Fang which then made Fang think that he wanted to play so Fang would run in a different direction. It was actually pretty funny to watch, considering that the only other dogs he’d ever had the god fortune to meet hated him and looked like his uncle Vernon, no offence to uncle Vernon obviously. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before Harry noticed that they were hopelessly lost. He didn’t tell that to Draco however, he didn’t think he could bear hearing about his daddy issues again. So while Draco and Fang played, or rather Fang played and Draco tried to avoid him, Harry casually stepped in some slime, submerging his foot.

Pulling his foot back he observed the slime and to his surprise found that his foot was now covered in silver gunk. It was a small puddle, but as he raised his eyes he saw a bigger puddle and then a bigger one, except the last one wasn’t just a puddle. A white horse that seemed to reflect the moon’s light lay wheezing as the silver sludge pooled around it. It’s throat had been ripped open and where Harry assumed there should have been a horn on its head was as broken stump.

“Uh,” Harry said, backing away. “Draco.”

“What?” Draco snapped, already at the height of his annoyance.

“Can you send up a flare?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“Of course I can,” Draco replied pompously. “I’m a Malfoy after all.”

“Great,” Harry said, clearly not paying attention. “How about doing it right now?”

“Why?”

“Because of that,” Harry said, pointing at a dark figure that had just emerged from the surrounding forest to lean over the dying unicorn. That caught Draco’s attention and he stared, frozen, as the figure made slurping noises, clearly drinking the unicorn’s blood. By the time Draco’s brain figured out what it was seeing he had thankfully already pulled out his wand and managed a flare spell. The problem was that the flare spell just provoked the figure to turn on them. “Run,” Harry shouted, pushing Draco away from the figure. Draco didn’t need to be told twice as he sprinted faster than Fang, avoiding tree roots and ditches.

Harry tried to follow but a familiar pain in his forehead made him falter, which happened to be at the same point that his foot caught in a crevice, sending him sprawling face first into some unicorn blood. Oh no. He tried to push himself up but a sudden flare in his forehead sent him back to the floor, making him writhe in pain. For a moment he could see the moon shining directly on him but it was quickly blocked out by the dark figure reaching for him.

*

Harry dreamed of unicorns, they were clip clopping around him, moving faster and faster, there were perhaps hundreds of them and they moved around Harry like a white tornado, their horns glinting in the light, hurting Harry’s eyes and his head in turn.

He felt himself moving, the sound of a horse’s hoof beats as it turned out wasn’t part of the dream. He was riding on a horse, his body slumped against someone in front of him, someone that hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. Harry couldn’t make the person out but at least it wasn’t Ron, that would have been awkward.

As the horse ran, Harry felt the migraine coming from his scar fade to a dull ache. He remembered now, the cloaked figure drinking unicorn blood, it had approached Harry and Harry’s scar had started to hurt like a red hot poker being shoved into his forehead. Needless to say, not a fun experience.

By the time the horse stopped moving, Harry was able to make out Hagrid’s hut, the lack of lights told Harry that he was the first one to make it back. He hoped Hermione was okay and hadn’t run into the cloaked vampire. Well obviously not a vampire, as Hagrid had said, unicorn blood would kill a vampire. Unless of course the vampire was dead, in which case it was a vampire. Harry’s head continued to hurt, but mainly for different reasons.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Harry said to the man in front of him before making an attempt to lower himself of the horse. Having never actually been on a horse, Harry’s descent was more akin to falling, with some arm flapping on the way down. Further reason for his head to hurt. Groaning, Harry pushed himself off the ground, although he would have loved nothing more than to go to sleep then and there, and wiped himself down, to face his rescuer. Seeing his rescuer face to face, Harry was struck with the feeling that something was wrong. After doing a double take he decided the problem was that the horse was missing its head, or rather his rescuer was the horse’s head. Eyes widening, he commented, “You- You’re...”

The man side of the horse nodded. “Harry Potter,” he declared.

Harry frowned. That wasn’t right. “No,” he corrected, still not quite sure where to put his eyes. “I’m Harry Potter, not you.”

The man-horse-thing nodded. “That is correct.”

Harry could see he didn’t intend to say any more without being asked, and with an uneasy glance at the man-horse’s tail flopping lazily behind him Harry continued, “So who are you then?”

“Firenze,” the man-horse declared, speaking little more on the subject.

Harry stared at Firenze for a few moments more before deciding that he wasn’t going to get more out of him. “Well thanks for the rescue, I’ll be going now,” Harry said, turning his back.

“Mars is bright tonight,” Firenze declared, apparently having ignored Harry’s previous statement. “Blood was shed tonight and so it will be.”

Harry turned to glare at Firenze. “Yeah, someone was drinking unicorn blood. Poor guy,” and after a moment, “or girl.”

“That you should be out on such a night, speaks much about you, Harry Potter,” Firenze breezed on, completely ignoring Harry.

“Uh, yeah, detention,” Harry said. “It does say a lot. Although Hermione getting detention probably says loads more about her. You should ask her about that,” Harry suggested.

Firenze looked down to Harry, as if seeing him for the first time. “Who is Harmony? Do you speak in riddles, you who have been born in blood? A riddle is a dangerous thing for one such as yourself to give.”

Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly. “No Hermione is-,”

“Harry!” exclaimed a voice from the entrance to the forest, cutting of Harry and announcing the arrival of Hermione, followed by a watchful Hagrid with his crossbow out and a dishevelled Draco, leaning against Fang for support.

Harry grinned. “That’s Hermione,” he explained to Firenze who had gone back to ignoring Harry, this time watching Hagrid like a hawk and backing away as Hagrid came closer, brandishing the crossbow at Firenze. Upon seeing Harry, Hagrid lowered the crossbow slightly.

“Harry,” he nodded. “Get behind me.”

Harry approached but made no move to get behind Hagrid, instead placing himself in front of Firenze, and, uncomfortably, in the line of crossbow fire. “It’s alright Hagrid,” Harry said, realising how the situation may have looked. “Firenze is a friend. He saved me from the vampire.”

“What vampire?” Hagrid started to say before cutting off. “Firenze,” he stated, almost as dramatically as Firenze would do. “Still haven’t been accepted back to the grove, I see.”

Firenze nodded. “They fear what they cannot understand.”

Hagrid and Firenze faced off, a silent battle fought with expressions and body language instead of words. Finally Hagrid lowered the crossbow fully, although still keeping a safe distance. “Thank you Firenze, your help is greatly appreciated by Hogwarts,” he said cordially. “I must be going now,” he finished and reaching for Harry, began pulling him to his hut.

“Farewell and good luck Harry Potter. I do not envy your fate,” Firenze called after them then trotted off, already picking up speed before reaching the trees.

Harry stared after him until he was completely sure he was gone. “Enthusiastic bloke, he is,” he commented.

“Centaurs,” Hagrid replied gruffly, as if that explained everything.

“Harry, what happened?” Hermione asked, the panic clear on her face.

“Vampires,” Harry said. “Just one, but creepy.”

“A vampire attacked you?” Hermione asked confused.

Harry shook his head. “No, not really, just a creepy figure in a cloak who was sucking out the soul of a unicorn before turning on me and attacking me with his super mind powers.”

Hermione looked sceptical but Hagrid was paying much more attention to Harry. “You saw him?” Hagrid asked.

Harry shrugged. “I saw a cloaked figure, I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a him. Could it have been a werewolf?”

Hagrid shook his head. “Werewolves don’t attack unicorns. Nothing attacks unicorns. Whoever is doing this isn’t doing it because they’re hungry,” Hagrid muttered to himself. Looking down at Harry, then Hermione and Draco, he must have realised they weren’t fit for any more detention work. “I’ll let you kids off early tonight. Just don’t let Filch find you wandering around at night again.”

Draco looked relieved, Hermione confused, and Harry disappointed. Sighing, Harry moved to leave with the others trailing behind him. Putting his arm around Draco’s shoulder Harry grinned. “Thanks for replacing Ron tonight, Malfoy, you did great.”

Draco who was still too exhausted and dishevelled to push Harry’s arm off just groaned and lowered his head. “Kill me.”


	20. Time to Reflect

_Dear Diary  
Last night Harry and I shared detention with that Malfoy boy in the forbidden forest. I’m sure Hagrid thought he was doing us a favour by volunteering to take our detention off of Filch’s hands, but in hindsight I would have been more comfortable polishing the entire trophy collection. I can’t fault Hagrid though, he was only trying to do us a favour and I’m sure he didn’t expect us to encounter anything, but it’s the thought that counts.  
In more recent news, Hagrid let slip the name of the resident Cerberus in Hogwarts, apparently its name is Fluffy. I’m not sure what’s more troubling, the fact he named a Cerberus Fluffy or that Fluffy is the ultimate protection for whatever is being guarded. Maybe it’s a distraction.   
The real question is, who is drinking unicorn’s blood and is it the same person trying to get past Fluffy? _

“It’s not Snape,” Harry said, one fine Sunday afternoon after Ron’s third consecutive win in wizard chess. One would think it’s like normal chess which Harry thought he was pretty good at, but as soon as Harry tried to move his knight all the pawns revolted, surrendering to the other side, it was a massacre. Ron seemed surprised that Harry just assumed his pawns would stick with a pubescent underfed teenager such as him without any assurances. Harry had stared back at him blankly, wondering if Ron knew what ‘pubescent’ meant. Did wizards go through puberty?

“What’s not Snape?” Ron asked in a very disinterested voice as he put the chess board away.

“Whoever is trying to get past Fluffy, it’s not Snape,” Harry replied.

Ron raised an eyebrow and eyed Hermione who was ignoring Harry due to a book, whatever it was. “Assuming I know who Fluffy is, why have you suddenly decided it’s not Snape?”

“Fluffy is the Cerberus, it’s Hagrid’s pet,” Harry said, before Ron could ask further. “And it’s not Snape because the cloaked figure didn’t walk with a limp, while Snape’s been walking with a limp for the past year.”

Ron frowned, eyeing Hermione and wondering if she was going to help him out. Sighing in defeat, Ron looked back at Harry. “Let’s just say there is a good reason to suspect Snape, which I’m not saying there is, I have three questions. Firstly, he could have healed his leg before going out into the forest to drink blood, secondly, he could have been faking the limp and lastly what in Merlin’s name does drinking unicorn’s blood have to do with the third floor corridor?”

“Oh don’t give me that,” Harry said. “They’re obviously connected. Hermione, help me out here,” Harry said, looking to Hermione desperately.

Hermione looked up thoughtfully, tapping her quill against her cheek. “It would explain a lot,” she said.

Ron groaned. “Don’t tell me you believe in this...this-,” Ron gave up.

Hermione smiled, probably more from seeing Ron in pain than any genuine happiness. “Think of it as a mental exercise, what if all of these events were connected. Obviously the troll was brought here for a reason, as you pointed out, someone was waiting for Halloween just to summon it. If we acknowledge that it was a distraction then we can already guess that whoever is doing this is inside Hogwarts.”

Ron nodded grudgingly. “Agreed, I still don’t see what this has to do with-,”

“Hush,” Hermione said, cutting him off. “Let’s move over to the cloaked figure. Someone clearly needed unicorn blood badly so badly that they came to the forbidden forest to get it. As Hagrid explained it, the blood has regenerative abilities, which is most likely the only reason one would seek it out. After consulting some books I found that unicorns are most common in forests near Sweden, so why would anyone come to the Forbidden Forest of all places to get his fix unless he was already in Hogwarts and couldn’t leave, or perhaps, wouldn’t leave,” Hermione continued, receiving wide eyed stares from both Ron and Harry. “So let’s say that both of these people are in fact one and the same, then this person would need to be a powerful enough wizard or witch to summon a troll and break through the wards, which, I’m sorry Ron, is not something Fred or George could do.”Ron closed his mouth and leaned back in his chair, a look of disappointment on his face. “A seventh year might know enough about wards to attempt a counter spell, but to weave a counter ward while also summoning a troll just shouldn’t be possible in general unless they’re a very powerful wizard, besides they would have to know or at least suspect what the ward on school was first with hours or years of testing, especially if it only works on Halloween, which means a seventh year couldn’t have done it seeing as they only start learning about wards in seventh year. That boils it down to a teacher and unless Snape’s limp is miraculously fixed tomorrow it means it’s not Snape,” Hermione finished. Both Ron and Harry stared agape.

“You thought of all that right now?” Ron asked, finding the ability to speak.

Hermione blushed. “It’s not that great. Harry obviously also came to the same conclusion.”

Harry shook his head. “No way, I just thought it would be more convenient if all my problems were caused by one person instead of many. That’s why I thought it was Snape, he’s already making my life hell in potions. I suppose after we take out the student option it can’t be Draco either,” he said, looking disappointed. “Now the only one I have to blame is Quirrel for his garlic addiction.”

Ron frowned. “What would be hidden in the third floor corridor then? More unicorns? I find that unlikely especially seeing as the entrance is a trapdoor that I would be hard-pressed to stuff a unicorn through.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ve given this some thought. Nothing conclusive, but it would have to be something that has the same properties as unicorn blood, but is better, so much better in fact that it’s worth spending at least a year infiltrating one of the highest security places on earth, summoning a troll and hunting unicorns out in the Forbidden Forest just to get close to whatever it is.”

Ron sat back, glaring at the roof. “Unicorns are special for a reason. If someone needs regeneration that can’t be solved by a normal spell they’re really the only place to go. I mean Nicholas Flamel is living proof that there’s no other way.”

Harry frowned as Hermione’s eyes brightened. “Of course,” Hermione exclaimed.

Ron nodded knowingly while Hermione seemed to sift through information in her head. Harry sighed. “Ok I give up, who’s Nicholas Flamel?” he asked.

Both Ron and Hermione gaped at Harry. “You really don’t know?” Ron asked. “The great and powerful Nicholas Flamel, keeper of Secrets and the book of Abraham, the immortal wizard. You’ve never heard of him?”

Harry shrugged. “Rings a bell. Enlighten me.”

Hermione growled. “There are five books filled with his exploits. I can’t very well tell you everything that happens in them,” she said.

Ron and Harry looked at her apprehensively.

“Well I could,” she conceded, blushing again. “But it would take too long.”

“Harry dear boy,” Ron said, taking Harry’s shoulder. “Have you ever thought about living forever?”

Harry thought about it. “I have now.”

“Well there is one person on this earth that can make that dream come true,” Ron continued. “And his name is-,”

“Dumbledore,” Harry exclaimed.

Ron shook his head.

“Voldemort.”

Another shake of the head, this one followed by wincing on both Ron and Hermione’s faces.

“Nicholas Flamel?” Harry tried.

Ron nodded.

“First try,” Harry exlclaimed, punching the air. “So if I asked this Nick fellow how I would do so he would tell me. . .,” Harry started off.

“To bugger off,” Ron finished. “But he manages to do so with the use of what is commonly known as the philosopher’s stone, although any further details are foggy at best.”

Harry nodded sagely. “So Hermione thinks that Hogwarts is keeping the philosopher’s stone here to set a trap for any evildoers that want to be immortal.”

“Basically,” Ron said.

“Brilliant,” said Harry at the same time as Ron said, “Moronic.”

Hermione placed a list down on the table, showing it to Ron and Harry. “This is a list of the entire faculty, I’ve already ruled out most of them. Those remaining are McGonagall, Quirrell, Sinistra and Hooch. All the rest have alibis or are too short to have been the face under the cloak. There’s also Snape, but we’ll find out soon if we can rule him out. For now we just have to wait.”

Standing up and stretching Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak from under his seat and wrapped it over his arm. “Sounds like a good plan Hermione. I’m going to head out and get a look at the mirror that shows naked people, if either of you want to come,” he offered.

Ron’s eyes widened. “You see naked people as well?”

Harry smirked. “Nope. Nice to know I was right though.”

Ron looked mortified, his face flushing to the point it was almost the same colour as his hair. Hermione either didn’t notice or pretended not to. 

“No takers then?” Harry asked to the empty common room. “Alright, see you two later.” Setting off, he wound the cloak around himself and disappeared from all visibility. Not that it made any difference to the people in the common room, one of which had her head buried in a book the other his bead buried in his hands.

*

The mirror was gone. Either that or it was invisible. Having the only invisibility cloak in existence Harry thought it was most likely the former. Sighing, Harry turned around only to slam face first into the headmaster. Harry was starting to dislike how often he was ramming into people.

“Ah, Harry,” the headmaster said. “What brings you here? The mirror no doubt. Well you’ll be happy to know that it has been relocated to a place it can do much more use than show Mr. Weasely images that no boy his age should be seeing. I’m sure you’ll be able to find it if you look hard enough,” he finished, leaving Harry’s mouth to hang open.

How had he known that it was Harry under the invisibility cloak and how had he known about Ron? Shivering, Harry moved out the door and sprinted back to the common room. If he didn’t know any better the headmaster had just given Harry a subtle hint and he now needed more sensible people to work out what the warning meant.

*

“I think it’s time to face the fact that Harry may very well be paranoid,” said Ron to a deeply contemplative Hermione. The common had filled up now that it was the evening, although that didn’t affect the volume of the conversation at all, no one really wanted to hear what they were talking about.

“Hmm,” Hermione replied, clearly finding the conversation lacking of interest. “It does seem odd,” she said.

“What’s odd is Harry’s attitude,” Ron countered.

Harry shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “It is pretty clear that he wants me to find it, or us. It’s like a game.”

Hermione frowned disapprovingly. “I don’t think our headmaster is one to play games with a few teenagers,” she said, prompting a cough from Ron.

“Y- Yeah,” Ron said. “That’s not like Dumbledore at all,” he shuffled nervously avoiding the eyes of his two friends who were giving him strange looks.

“The point is,” Harry continued, ignoring Ron’s discomfort. “Is that he seemed to imply that I should look for it if I can think of a better use than looking at naked people.”

Hermione’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “I don’t know how you’re arriving at that conclusion. He merely hinted at knowing what you and Ron saw in the mirror. That doesn’t mean you have to or should be doing anything.”

“I suppose,” Harry conceded, the smile on his face fading. “I guess the end of the year is going to be boring then. Maybe I’ll go tackle Fluffy with my clarinet skills or something just to make it worth it,” he finished brightening again.

“A clarinet,” Hermione chuckled. “Where did you come up with that?”

Harry shrugged. “Just something Hagrid said about familiars. I thought it would be interesting to see what effect music has on magical creatures. But don’t worry I’ll play it outside, I don’t want to get my head removed from my shoulders.”

*

The end of the year exams would be starting soon and Harry was pretty sure he was going to fail. Although he did pretty well in theory, his practical ability was nonexistent. As Hermione put it, his only real option at the moment was to do so well in the theory that the teachers could ignore his abysmal failures in practical. Otherwise he would either have to stay back or would be expelled, neither a happy thought. On the one hand nothing could be worse than going back to the Dursleys knowing he had failed, on the other hand going through another full year as a failure would probably be more painful in the long run.

Sitting in a courtyard with Hermione who had taken the time to discuss all the ways Harry could bluff his practical to get him a high enough mark. At the moment it seemed the best option would be to just learn the wand movements and wording so perfectly that the teachers would be forced to give him a pass even if it didn’t work. Ron probably would have helped out but he was spending the next few days cramming in all the assignments he had skipped over the course of the year, which was a lot.

They were good ideas, Harry was almost assured to pass in everything besides for potions which required some wandwork for the results to turn out. All in all it was a good plan. Harry still felt down though. He had been able to ignore the problem for most of the year, especially with the professors insisting on hours of theory instead of teaching them magic. The end of year exams were an abrupt and uncomfortable reminder that Harry, for all his knowledge and grasp of magical theory, was still unable to even lift a feather with his wand, while Ron had managed to lift a troll’s club with ease and most of the class had already moved on to lifting books and changing matches into needles.

Harry’s mind had drifted from what Hermione was saying to focus on self pity but Hermione carried on as if talking to herself, which she was. He was so tired of feeling sorry for himself but he was beginning to wonder if it was a good idea for him to even be moving up to second year, they would most likely be expected to start doing large amounts of magic after their first year covered the majority of the theory. And Snape. . .he would just be unbearable.

Speaking of the devil, Harry was able to make out their dear potions professor making his way across the courtyard at a halting limp. Turning to Hermione, he shook her shoulder and pointed to Snape, urging her into silence. The limp was very much still there. That marked Snape off the list. There were still a few teachers to consider, but taking Snape off the list was a good achievement. The biggest question in Harry’s mind was why Snape was heading right for him. There couldn’t be a good reason for that.

“Potter,” the professor stated blandly. “The headmaster wanted me to inform you that he wouldn’t be here today and that it is the perfect time to reflect on yourself. Don’t ask me what that means as I have no idea. Now get back to work.” Without looking to make sure Harry caught all of it he turned and stormed away, with a limp albeit.

Harry looked at Hermione who shrugged in reply. Sighing, Harry stood up. “Thanks for all of this Hermione, but I need to go take a walk. I think I have the theory well under my belt. Maybe we can continue this later. My head’s just not in the right place at the moment.”

Hermione nodded her understanding and started packing up her things as Harry moved off to reflect on himself as Dumbledore had apparently put it. He probably knew about Harry’s magic problem just as he knew about what Ron saw in the mirror. He wondered if there was anything in the school that Dumbledore didn’t know. Besides for the identity of the traitor in their midst, that was what the trap was for.

Even as he thought about the third floor corridor he felt himself drawn towards it, the same urge to find excitement pushing him forward step by step until he was facing the door. He raised his hand to the door handle as a gesture of curiosity more than anything else, knowing that the door wouldn’t budge without the spell that Hermione had used to unlock the door. To his surprise however the door swung open smoothly at the barest touch, revealing the Cerberus asleep on the floor and the trapdoor wide open and the sound of a mournful symphony playing slow and soft, dropping Harry’s spirits lower than they already were. Ron and Hermione weren’t going to be happy.


	21. Chess Marks the Spot

_Voldemort wanted a war and we gave it to him. Nobody, not the ministry, not even Dumbledore himself could have foreseen the consequences. Whereas before he was merely a serial killer with a few accomplices, by recognising him as an entity they gave him credence and worse they gave him a name. Gone was Voldemort the serial killer and in came Lord Voldemort, a man who fights for what he believes in. I wake up every morning in horror because of this.  
We created a monster and we don’t even know why._

“He wants us to go down there,” Harry insisted, even as he pulled Ron along in an attempt to find Hermione. “Why else would he give me that message otherwise?”

Ron groaned. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because he wants you to listen to him,” he said cynically.

Harry shook his head. “He explicitly told Snape to tell me that he wouldn’t be here and then mentioned something totally irrelevant about reflecting on myself. He’s clearly moved the mirror down there and wants us to go find it, it’s like a quest,” he said excitedly.

Ron opened his mouth to argue but closed it again, realising the pointlessness of the gesture. Hermione was found in her usual spot, cuddled up to some books in a far corner of the library, however due to the older students writing their end of the year papers the library had temporary silence charms set up, thus disabling any conversation to take place. Instead wild gesticulation took a conversation’s place. It seemed that the concept of telling Hermione to leave the library was an altogether alien one and eventually both boys had to drag her out just to have a word.

“That makes perfect sense,” Hermione said, nodding along to Harry as he told her about what he had seen. “Hagrid obviously told the mysterious figure from whom he received the dragon egg how to put a Cerberus to sleep, and that mysterious figure gave him a dragon’s egg that would hatch soon to prevent Hagrid from telling the headmaster about the event, thus removing at least one obstacle. Now the headmaster left the school before the year ended to spring the trap but he can’t get any of the teachers to spring the trap because they could be the ones falling into it and all the older years are writing their exams, leaving it to us to spring the trap,” she said, proudly.

Ron frowned. “What about Snape? He seemed pretty knowledgeable about Dumbledore’s not being here.”

Hermione laughed him off. “Snape has a limp, he can’t do anything.”

Ron groaned, clutching his head as if in pain. “That’s not how magic works, he could just use a broom and-,” he cut off, looking at the eager expressions in both Harry and Hermione’s faces. “And I can see there is absolutely no way I can convince either of you to not go in there. I guess it can’t hurt to have a look, but at the first sign of danger I’m out of there, whether you follow me or not,” he said, giving in.

Harry’s face brightened. “Let’s go then. Daylight’s wasting,” he said, rushing off, followed quickly by Hermione and much further behind by Ron.

*

“Why do I always have to go first?” Ron muttered as he was lowered through the trapdoor. The Cerberus was still fast asleep thankfully, Hermione and Harry waiting next to it for fear of worse things to come once through the trapdoor. “Slowly. Slowly. One crack about my weight and I’ll wake the dog, I will,” he said, the darkness surrounding him. His foot brushed against something. “I think I feel something, just a bit lower.”

“Uh Hermione,” Harry said nervously, ignoring Ron, for all that it was worth. “How long ago did the music stop playing?”

Hermione gulped and a snarling sound answered his question. Not even having the time to scream, Harry and Hermione dropped Ron in sync and proceeded to jump through the trapdoor, Harry pulling the wooden slab shut as he fell, blocking out all light.

At least his landing was soft. Or relatively so at least. “Uh, Harry mate, could you move your hand, it’s not in the most appropriate of places and I’m getting just a little bit uncomfortable,” Ron said to the darkness.

Harry shivered. “Sorry, but that isn’t me. Maybe it’s Hermione,” he suggested.

“Not me,” Hermione called from at least a few meters from where Ron’s voice had emanated.

Ron whimpered. “Then who the bloody hell is rubbing the inside of my leg?” he asked, panicking audibly and thrashing around.

“Sounds like you’ve made a new friend,” Harry said, chuckling.

“That’s not funny Harry, the first order of protection was a Cerberus, I wouldn’t be surprised if we had just landed on the Whomping Willow and that would be very bad,” Ron said only to be interrupted by a shriek from Hermione who sounded like she was falling. . .again.

The shriek was cut of almost immediately. Ron thrashed against whatever was touching him and Harry, when trying to move, found that he too was being constricted. “Are you alright Hermione?” Harry called, still moving against his bonds which seemed to get tighter the more he moved.

Hermione groaned. “Ouch. Light, lumos, something,” she muttered, shortly followed by a bright light coming out from under Harry and Ron. Harry didn’t even have time to scream before his fall was cut short and his backside hit cold stone. Ron managed to scream though and continued to do so even after he was safe.

“Huh, Devil’s Snare. What a useless trap? Honestly who would go through a dark trapdoor without a light?” Hermione asked, staring up at the vines which had threatened to crush Harry and Ron to death only moments earlier.

“I wonder who would be so foolish?” Ron said mockingly in an attempt to imitate Hermione’s voice. It didn’t work very well.

Harry had joined Hermione to look up, but he was looking at the trapdoor. “Still feel like leaving?” he asked Ron.

Ron glanced up at the trapdoor, heard the sound of the Cerberus growling and decided it wasn’t worth it. “If I said I wanted to stay here and wait for the teachers to come and rescue us would you let me?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Harry asked, pulling Ron along. “It’ll be fun, I swear. Who knows, maybe there’ll be some giant chess set for you to show off your chess skills.”

*

Ron hated it when Harry was right. There had been the chamber of flying keys before and that was just overtly pretentious. They were more of puzzles than security measures. Why leave the key there among all the other keys instead of just removing the one key that fit and confusing the hell out of them?

At least Harry had the chance to show off his Quidditch skills which lightened his mood more than it already was. Hermione took the opportunity to marvel at a part of the castle she had never seen before, rattling off details about the stonemasons, their work and their entire lineage. Ron was able to turn Hermione off for the most of it, so that was manageable at least. Well he had been able to shut Hermione out earlier, but now he had to concentrate and win a chess game.

A giant chess set blocked the pathway leading from the chamber of killer keys, the black pieces facing the trio and behind them, across the chessboard, Ron could make out the white pieces, all standing in place besides for one, a pawn that had been moved forward. It looked like war had been declared.

Sighing in mock exhaustion, Ron turned to Harry and Hermione. “What pieces do you two want to be? I’m choosing knight, so if both of you want to be knight you’ll have to play rock, parchment, knife to decide.”

Both of them looked at Ron in confusion. “Why do we have to choose any?” Hermione, bold enough to ask questions, asked.

“It’s another puzzle. Beat the game, move on to the next one. It’s clear what we have to do here,” he answered, already moving off to demonstrate. Stepping onto one of the squares that formed the chessboard he found himself walking against an invisible barrier. “See what I mean?”

“I’ll be a rook,” Harry said, before Hermione could ask anything else. “Hermione can be the other knight, I don’t mind.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Harry and Ron had already moved behind their pieces, Ron giving the pieces orders to stand up and move. “Wait. Why do we have to be part of the game?” she asked, still standing back.

Ron looked at her with an eyebrow quirked. “Do you expect them to fight for someone that won’t join them on the battlefield?” he asked rhetorically.

Hermione frowned. “I thought this was supposed to be chess.”

Ron nodded. “It is, now go stand in your place. I’ll try limit casualties but if either of you see something that I don’t, please share. I would like to limit the casualties as much as possible.” With that, Ron started giving what went for an inspirational speech to rally the troops while Harry and Hermione shuffled in place, waiting for the game to start.

*

Ron lost himself in the game. For once Harry was happy not to be on the receiving end of Ron’s fury. Victory was a petty thing, the troops rejoicing over the smallest victory, when taking an enemy pawn. But for some reason it was working. Gradually they were winning and conquering the board bit by bit. A few sacrifices had been made but they didn’t equate to the sheer damage happening across the board. While he may not have been very good at homework, Ron was a prodigy at chess.

“Wait, wait, everyone stop,” Ron exclaimed suddenly. His command didn’t do much seeing as no one was actually moving, but it definitely helped Ron. “I’ve made a grave mistake,” he muttered to himself.

“Are we going to lose?” Harry asked, not looking forward to having to do the whole chess match again.

Ron shook his head. “You have so little faith in me. No we’re not going to lose but if we want this to end quickly I need to sacrifice a knight to create an opening, particularly the knight that I am acting as.”

Harry nodded his understanding. “That is a problem.”

Ron cracked his neck. “Not as great as you might think, but I may not be able to come with you guys the rest of the way,” he said, seemingly deep in thought. Frowning he shook his head. “No it’s good. After I take the queen you move to the end of the board and it’s checkmate, then you can go on ahead.” A worried look from Hermione had Ron chuckling. “Don’t worry about me, I’m made of tougher stuff. Perks of living with too many older brothers. You really should move ahead after you win though,” he insisted.

Harry nodded, grimacing at the thought of Ron being sliced in half by one of the chess pieces. Maybe they wouldn’t be so violent. There was no such luck however as straight after Ron displaced the queen with a solid kick a bishop turned to him with staff in hand and shoved it against Ron’s diaphragm. What followed was three short cracking sounds before Ron was sent flying through the air to slam his head against the archway at the entrance to the chess chamber, his body then slumped to the floor, leaving silence save for the sound of Ron’s raggedy breathing. “Don’t,” Harry warned Hermione who looked like she was ready to abandon her position and run to Ron’s side. “He said he’ll be alright. Have some faith in him.” Hermione nodded and waited in place as Harry moved to the end of the board. “Checkmate,” he muttered grimly.

For a moment nothing happened, and then the king bowed his head and dropped his sword. Immediately all of the enemy’s pieces all knelt down, laying their weapons on the floor in turn. Finally the king stepped aside, allowing Harry and Hermione to make their way off the chessboard to finally arrive at the other side. After leaving the board all the pieces reformed and took their positions, blocking the way back to Ron.

“He’ll be alright,” Harry said, squeezing Hermione’s hand. “Ron may be many things but a liar generally isn’t one of them.”

Hermione nodded, sniffing softly before wiping her eyes. “You’re right. Let’s move on. He wouldn’t want us to stand around here doing nothing.”


	22. The Mirror of Desire

_I remember the fear. Whenever coming home from work my mind would wander and I would find myself standing outside my door hesitating. If I didn’t open the door I wouldn’t have to know. The dark lord could have broken in and tortured my family to death and I wouldn’t have to know. I opened the door in the end every time, feeling eternal relief upon seeing my family again._   
_When I heard that it was all over, that the dark lord had been defeated by a baby no less, I hesitated for far longer than I had done ever since the war started. The name of the baby was a dangerous thing, it was the name of hope and I didn’t dare feel it, for the cost of having it and then losing it would be too great._   
_In the end I opened the door and walked inside, but not for a while._

_T_ he next chamber brought a worried Harry and Hermione to a wall of fire and although there was no visible fuel for the fire it was still giving off a great amount of heat worthy of the bonfire it was. Next to the doorway, was a table with seven bottles all different from the other and large looping script written on the wall in front of them. Harry started reading the text and after realising it was a riddle drifted off. “It’s obviously the bottle that is the least likely to be the correct one. Besides,” he started, grabbing a few and smelling each one. “A bunch of these smell like wine so we can rule them out.”

Hermione looked at him annoyed. “Didn’t you read the riddle at all?” she asked, all worry about Ron apparently forgotten.

“I tried, but I got bored. Who stops in the middle of an adventure to read something?” Harry said.

Hermione growled. “You have been spending too much time with Ron and directions are what you would read on an adventure.”

Harry shook his head. “Directions? On an adventure? Are you insane?”

Hermione shook her head, muttering something about boys while Harry tinkered with one of the bottles before gulping it down, making Hermione scream. “Harry, what are you doing?” she exclaimed batting the bottle from Harry’s hand.

Harry shrugged. “It was the only bottle that wasn’t completely covered in dust. I figured that was probably what the person in front of us used,” Harry said. Sure enough when he put his hand near the fire it passed through unscathed.

“Why did you drink the whole thing?” Hermione asked, more annoyed now than furious.

Harry frowned. “That’s a good point. I’m not completely sure. Anyways I’m going to go on ahead, see if you can get Ron some medical attention before his head injury makes him fuller of himself than he is already,” Harry said cheerfully before stepping through the pillar of flame, leaving Hermione to once again scream at him. The sound was muffled quite significantly though.

Moving along, Harry walked down a narrow corridor, the excitement rising in his chest. His legs moved faster almost as if he was being pulled along by an invisible string. When the corridor widened out again he was presented with an almost empty room, save for a mirror in the middle and professor Quirrel sitting in front of it.

At the sound of Harry’s entering, Quirrel looked at Harry with an almost bored expression. “Ah Potter, you took your time. I’ve been waiting here for hours.” Glancing back at the mirror he sighed longingly. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“You were waiting for me?” Harry asked.

Quirrel nodded. “Either you, the redhead or the Granger girl. Any of you would suffice, although I think the Granger girl would have been a better fit.” Waving Harry over, Quirrel scooted over a bit. “Come sit with me, we have much to discuss.”

Harry moved nearer to him but stopped himself. “I’m not sure I trust you,” he said.

Quirrel smiled. “You learn quickly. But you can trust me not to do anything to you until I have the stone.”

“The stone. So you are after Saint Nick’s stone. Was the troll also you? And the dragon egg? And the unicorn?” Harry asked excitedly.

Quirrel’s smile widened. “My oh my, someone’s been sneaking around. But yes, they were all me. The broom jinx as well, in case you had forgotten. Did you enjoy the challenges?”

“I’m not sure- what? I suppose,” Harry said, taken aback. “You did it all for the sorcerer’s stone,” Harry explained.

“The philosopher’s stone,” Quirrel corrected. “Yes, I suppose I was seeking it. I broke into Gringotts but they had moved the bloody thing already. Now here we are, at an impasse of sorts.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t understand why you want the stone. You can’t be a vampire, vampires can’t drink unicorn blood and you don’t look like you’re about to die anytime soon. What pushed the plan forward all of a sudden?”

Quirrel laughed a deep cold laugh. “For a boy that’s so clever you are quite dense. Think about it for a moment, you’re already going with the same logic. If everything bad that’s happened around you so far was caused by one thing well then wouldn’t logic dictate that it was all perpetrated by the same person?”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “No sorry, not unless you’re Snape in disguise.”

Quirrel frowned bitterly. “I suppose it was too much to hope for a more dramatic introduction. Nonetheless you will recognise me.” With that he started unwrapping his turban, slowly and methodically winding it around his hand all the while keeping his eyes trained on Harry’s. Holding up his two hands, he reached up to cup his chin and the back of his head, then with a resounding crack he twisted. Harry watched in horror as Quirrel’s head was turned around to show another face to Harry, a decidedly colder and angrier face.

Harry gawked. There were no words. “You’re- you’re- Darth Vader.”

“Yes, it is I,” Quirrel face two laughed, then frowned. “Did you say Darth Vader?”

Harry shrugged. “You look like him without the mask.”

Quirrel face two rested the bridge of his nose in his hand. “No. I’m Lord Voldemort.”

Harry’s face dropped. “Oh. Are you here to kill me?” he asked.

Voldemort shook his head. “No. I considered it, but no. I’m just here for the stone. There’s not much point in killing you when you’re the only one that can get the stone.”

“Why on earth would I get the stone for you?” Harry asked, already backing away.

Voldemort smiled, slightly too wide for comfort. “If you don’t then you’ll be stuck here with me for hours potentially and I have no qualms about torturing children, especially children that stand in my way.”

Harry gulped. “Noted.”

Voldemort looked longingly at the mirror then back at Harry. “May as well get this done with now,” he said, standing up and moving aside so that Harry could stand in front of the mirror.

“You’re such a powerful wizard, why can’t you do it yourself?” Harry grumbled.

“It’s not my true desire and I therefore don’t see it. Curse Dumbledore and his simplicity,” Voldemort responded angrily. “But you, even if you don’t really want the stone, I can make you want it, I can make it your greatest desire, just to make the pain go away.”

Harry shivered and looked at the mirror, raising an eyebrow as he saw his own reflection put the stone in his pocket. “I uh- what exactly do you want me to do?” Harry asked.

“Well what do you see?” Voldemort asked patiently.

Harry tried to think of a lie. “Naked people. I see naked people,” he said shutting his eyes.

Voldemort frowned. “I could start torturing you now if you want,” he said, raising his wand to point at Harry.

Harry raised his hands and shook his head. “Whoa, hey, no need to take drastic measures, let me just-,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone. 

Voldemort kept the wand trained on Harry. “How long have you had it for?”

“A few seconds,” Harry said wincing in preparation for the oncoming pain.

Voldemort however didn’t cast any spell. “Hand it over then.”

Harry nodded, slowly approaching Voldemort, holding his hand out. Once within reaching distance, Voldemort reached out his hand to take the stone, lowering his wand slightly. Taking the cue, Harry pulled his hand away and took off, running towards the corridor where the entrance had been while Voldemort screamed in rage. Bits of brickwork exploded just behind Harry’s feet as he ran, fuelling him to run faster. Reaching the wall of flame, Harry reached out with his hand and turned away at the last moment, cradling the hand he’d almost burned off. It appeared that the potion had worn off. Glancing behind him and seeing Voldemort approaching with a smirk on his face, Harry did the only thing he could think of. He threw the stone at the wall of fire.

Voldemort tried to cast a spell to catch the stone, a cry leaving his mouth only for the rock to explode into a fine powder as it hit the fire. Voldemort looked like he was about to explode, his teeth grinding and his arm shaking as he slowly pointed his wand at Harry. “Potter,” he said slowly, the acid clear in his voice.

Harry stared at the figure in front of him and realised that he was most likely going to die, for some reason that didn’t scare him as much as it should have. Possibly because he had been there done that and got the scar. A terrible plan formed in his mind and he knew that if he made it out alive, Ron would probably never let him forget it. It was so stupid that it was bound to work.

Reaching into his back pocket with the one hand, Harry pointed with the other hand and put on his best surprised face, shouting, “What in the bloody hell is that!” while pointing behind Voldemort.

Either because he was angry, or because of the sheer absurdity of the action, Voldemort turned to look where Harry was pointing, at which point Harry ripped his invisibility cloak out of his back pocket, flinging it over himself and jumping to the side, even as the brickwork where he had just been standing exploded. He slammed against the wall and felt something crack, the pain making him want to throw up, but he was still alive and the adrenaline flowing through his body wouldn’t let him stop moving yet. Running past Voldemort as he tried to locate Harry, he entered the mirror room and hid behind the mirror, hoping it would protect him.

Voldemort strolled into the room, looking around casually. “You should know, I wasn’t going to kill you, not yet at least. But I am now and I’m going to enjoy it,” he announced to the room.

Harry didn’t move, there was no point in panicking, Hermione would probably get out with Ron and get help. They would arrive soon, he hoped at least. He just had to wait it out, keep dodging the spells until he was saved. Easily manageable.

Voldemort started whispering to himself, words Harry couldn’t hear but they were no doubt part of a spell. Waving his wand around his head once supplied no visible effect, but Harry could see Voldemort smirk and didn’t feel very confident any more. A cracking sound under his feet drew Harry’s attention to the floor, to see tendrils of stone rising up and wrapping themselves around Harry’s legs, pinning him to the floor. They only stopped when they reached Harry’s shoulders, making sure he couldn’t even move enough of himself to attempt an escape.

Voldemort approached, clapping as he walked. When he reached Harry he pulled the cloak off and stared at it for a few moments before tossing it aside and facing Harry with an angry smirk. “The boy who lived. I’m disappointed really,” he said.

“Join the club,” Harry retorted, struggling against the stone tendrils.

“Ah yes, your little magic problem,” Voldemort nodded. “I don’t know why you even bothered fighting against me, you should have let me have the stone and pledged yourself as my servant, the rewards would have been more than you can even comprehend. Instead you chose to defy me, and for what? For a society that will ostracise you as soon as they find out about your little problem.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. “They wouldn’t do that,” he said, but he didn’t sound so confident and his struggling had become half hearted.

Voldemort smiled widely. “Have you noticed that Filch is the only squib you ever see in the school. People that can’t do magic aren’t accepted to Hogwarts, they aren’t welcome. As soon as they find out,” he chuckled. “I’ll be surprised if they let you keep your memories. And then when you’re gone I will return and no one will be able to stop me, first Dumbledore will die, then I’ll kill your friends just for fun, in the meanwhile you’ll sit in an office having no idea what is happening to your loved ones. It’s a shame that I’ve already killed your parents, but I guess your friends will do. I will so enjoy killing them,” he said, laughing.

Harry’s face went blank and he met Voldemort’s eyes. “Don’t touch my friends,” he said, enunciating each word loudly and clearly.

Voldemort’s eyes glinted in amusement. “Did I make you angry?” he asked, disbelievingly. “You don’t want me to touch your friends? Maybe I should go find them now, torture them in front of you. I’m sure the Granger girl can scream.”

Harry knew Voldemort wouldn’t actually be able to get out but it didn’t stop the anger rising in his chest. “Don’t touch my friends!” he screamed, writhing against his bond. He could feel the stone cutting into his skin but ignored it. Seeing Voldemort laugh casually, not taking Harry seriously made Harry see red, giving him a sense of Déjà vu, a loud cracking noise followed and Harry was able to move his arms again. He didn’t look down, there would be time to assess, later, what he wanted to do right then was strangle Voldemort, rip him apart and cease that laughter.

Jumping towards Voldemort, he screamed and held his hands out, reaching for Voldemort’s neck. Voldemort’s expression changed quickly from mild amusement, to confusion and to fear as Harry tackled him to the floor. The pain registered only a moment later as fire seemed to consume Voldemort’s face, making him scream to match Harry’s own screaming. By the time he drew away Voldemort’s head was a pile of ashes. Harry held up his hands which were covered in flames and wondered why he still heard screaming. It only took him a few moments to realise the screaming was his own.

The pain hit him a moment later, a stabbing in his scar so intense that it made him dizzy. Like in the forbidden forest but only worse, all he wanted was the quiet calm of sleep to take him, or death, whichever came first. Looking down at the ashes of Voldemort’s body one more time, the dark took him and gave him reprieve. His head hit the stone a moment later, but he didn’t feel it, and for a while, Harry didn’t feel anything.


	23. An Ending

_Dear Diary  
Thank Merlin it’s over. I really shouldn’t be happy about it but with Harry being unconscious for the last week of school I have found a sense of peace that has avoided me since meeting him. Of course it’s terrible that he’s in the hospital wing but Madame Pomfrey said he will make a full recovery and he was suffering mostly from exhaustion, with a few broken ribs on the side.  
Ron, who I’m surprised is still alive, was out of the hospital wing in a matter of hours and that was just because Madame Pomfrey insisted he stay in bed so that she could make sure he didn’t have a concussion. But apparently besides for a few bruises, Ron managed to make it out of that heavy collision with very little damage. He did tell Harry and I that he would be fine, but I thought it had just been bravado. I now see that I was sorely wrong. When I asked him about it he brushed me off with a tale of his older brothers and then got defensive. I’m going to need to be more strategic about my interrogations if I want to find out the truth.  
  
_

Harry woke to a very long, very white beard taking up most of his vision. As his vision came back to him the image became clear and he was able to make out the headmaster sitting next to his bed, his glasses sliding down his nose as he snored softly. It seemed that Dumbledore had been sitting there for quite some time.

Pushing himself up, Harry noted that it was day, most likely some-time in the late afternoon. He must have slept the entire day. At least he wasn’t dead. That would have been bad. In response to his movement, Dumbledore stirred, his eyes opening slowly to rest on Harry. Straightening in his chair, the headmaster pushed his glasses up to his eyes and regarded Harry carefully.

“Harry,” he said warmly. “Are you well?” he asked before taking out what looked like a lighter and flicking it once before putting it away.

Harry thought about the moment before shrugging. “I suppose.” Holding up his hands he was hard pressed not to notice the large bandages that encased them. “At least I think so.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “I don’t mean to rush you but we found you collapsed over a pile of ashes. While your friends have told me what they know I am afraid there is quite a large chunk that is missing. I was hoping that you might be able to fill it,” he said in a friendly but authoritarian voice.

“It was Voldemort,” Harry said, before Dumbledore was able to finish. “Quirrel was his other face. He was trying to steal the sorcerer’s stone, he was the one killing the unicorns and who let the troll in and tried to knock me off my broom,” Harry rambled. “When you sent that message with Professor Snape about finding the mirror I realised that I had to do something.”

The headmaster seemed to think about the information, his brows furrowing and eyeing Harry strangely. “I believe you’re referring to the Philosopher’s stone, where is it, if I may ask? And I wonder how did you manage to defeat Voldemort? It isn’t a very easy feat.”

Harry frowned. “He made me angry and the next thing I knew my hands were on fire and so was he. Basically the same thing happened to the stone, just in the curtain of fire blocking the exit.” Harry winced. “Sorry about that. I figured it was better than having it in his hands.”

The headmaster shook his head and let out a throaty laugh. “No worries. My good friend Nicholas may have to work a bit harder this month but I don’t think it will hinder him very much. It is not nearly the worst he’s had to face. In fact I’m very impressed Harry, you have managed to defeat the dark lord twice, something that most wouldn’t have been able to do even once. I would urge you not to mention this to anyone, the news that Voldemort was teaching their children for the past year would not bode well. Can we keep this our secret?” he asked.

Harry blinked a few times before realising that he was asking him a question. “Oh yeah sure. Can I tell Ron and Hermione though?”

Dumbledore nodded. “If you trust them.” He rose to leave before Harry called out to him.

“Umm sir, I wanted to ask something as well,” he said hesitantly. “Something I would prefer be kept secret as well.”

“Of course,” said the headmaster seating himself again and giving Harry his full attention.

Harry gulped. “It’s hard to speak about but I haven’t been able to do any magic for the entire year. I was beginning to think that I didn’t belong here until that moment, facing Voldemort I was doing magic that I’d never seen before. I was hoping you might know what’s wrong with me,” he said hopefully.

“I couldn’t tell you what’s wrong with you,” the headmaster said, stroking his beard a moment before continuing. “Do you know why Voldemort terrified people more than any other dark wizard to have come before him?” he asked, suddenly looking a lot older.

Harry shrugged. “We haven’t done that in history yet. I assumed it was because he killed lots of people.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed he did kill many people. But that wasn’t what terrified people, it was that he was able to. The killing curse is a spell that has never been blocked in history. While most wards and protections will be enough to protect from deadly spells they will not be able to do anything against the killing curse. It is fortunate that not many people are able to do it.” Sighing he leaned back, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his robe. Harry knew he could have cleaned them with a simple spell but didn’t interrupt. “The reason most wizards can’t perform the killing curse is because it requires a person to experience a hatred so great that they’re willing to die just to kill the one they hate. Magic is much the same, although most don’t need to feel anything to lift a feather save for the desire to lift the feather, emotion can fuel it greatly and where a person may have found themselves barely able to lift a feather, when in a crisis they may gain the ability to be much greater. I believe your red haired friend could tell you all about that if you were to ask him, although I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Harry frowned after processing the explanation. “So, do you think it was my hatred that caused my ability in magic?” he asked, not sure if he was going to like the answer. The very idea that he would need to feel hatred all the time just to do magic wasn’t something he wanted to consider.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said, placing his glasses back on his face. “But it is not the only option. Tell me, what did you feel when it mattered?” he asked.

Harry tried to recall what had happened. “I was scared,” he started slowly. “But no, not really, not for myself. He threatened my friends and I was scared for them, I didn’t want him to hurt them. At some point I think I would have done anything to stop him from hurting them even if it meant burning myself.”

Dumbledore smiled. “You need not be worried about hatred consuming you Harry. You’ve discovered a greater emotion, one that some don’t learn even in their old age. Unconditional love, willing to do something for another without a gain for oneself can override any hatred. Armed with such an emotion the dark lord’s hatred would falter,” he finished, before pushing himself up and retrieving what looked like a cross between a torch and a lighter before pressing a button. “Now if that is all I believe your friends want to see you Harry. Good day and good luck,” he said before walking out the hospital wing.

A moment later, almost as if a switch had been flicked, the world seemed to take on a greater colour. Accompanying the colour rushed in Hermione and Ron, both looking exhausted. Harry grinned, thankful to see Ron wasn’t injured. Hermione tackled Harry in an awkward hug while Ron stood off to the side looking out of place. Pulling away she stared Harry down and then slapped him. “What were you thinking?” she exclaimed as Harry held his hand to his face in a confused expression. Glancing over at Ron he could see an expression that mirrored his own, although Ron did seem to find Harry’s predicament much funnier than Harry himself.

“It’s good to see you too Hermione. And Ron,” he added as an afterthought.

“I can’t believe you just drank the whole potion and went to pursue a dark wizard that most likely could have killed you. You could have died. You’re lucky you only missed the last week of school,” Hermione ranted.

Harry frowned. “What do you mean ‘the last week’?”

Ron smirked. “You’ve been out for a week, mate. We thought you were dead.”

“Or worse,” Harry finished. “Damn. Do you think they’ll let me make up the exams?” he asked, sinking into his bed.

“No, they won’t,” Hermione said, still looking quite angry. “Because they passed you. They bloody passed you because you saved the entire wizarding world. I can’t stand it,” she shouted, fuming.

Harry’s spirits rose. “I passed?” Ron’s nod confirmed it. Punching a bandaged hand into the air he let out a whoop of joy, drawing a tired glare from Hermione.

“So anyways,” Ron started, interrupting Hermione’s rage. “I heard the story up until Hermione was with you, but we really want to hear what happened next,” he said. Hermione looked like she wanted to protest but probably wanted to hear the story more than she wanted to scream at Harry and so she too was silent.

Harry smiled and beckoned them in. “I’ll tell you, but Dumbledore said to keep it secret. So outside of this room you keep mum.”

Both Ron and Hermione thought about it for a moment before nodding.

“Right. So after I passed through the fire I found professor Quirrel sitting in front of the mirror. . .”

*

Ron sat in an empty common room staring at a chessboard. Neither side had made any moves and anyone watching would have wondered what Ron was expecting. Good thing no one was watching.

“Why won’t you move?” he muttered to his opponent.

“Sometimes it’s better to wait and see what moves your opponent will make, in fact war doesn’t start until someone make a move,” the headmaster responded sagely.

Ron growled. “Why did you ask me to play chess if you’re just going to lecture me on not playing chess.”

Dumbledore smiled across from him. “Because I wish for you to understand what has happened until now and what is going to happen now that you have befriended the most dangerous person to be friends with in existence.”

Ron sighed. “If you want me to understand, then explain to me why you sent us down to find that bloody stone in the first place.” Then after a moment. “Pardon my language.”

Dumbledore frowned at that. “Yes, that detail has evaded me somewhat, as well as a few others. It would seem that there is another player in this elaborate game. For I gave no such order to Severus, nor did I arrange for any of those challenges to obscure the way of one trying to get in. Save for the mirror and the locked door I fear that I wasn’t involved and that worries me.”

Ron mirrored the headmaster’s expression. “So the Cerberus, the vines, the flying keys, the wall of flame and that damned chess room were put there by someone else?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed. Of course the teachers all arranged the challenges with my orders, or at least that’s what their memories claim, but I have gone over my own memories of this year countless times and I can say with absolute certainty that I did not give those orders.” He chuckled morosely for a moment. “The chess set was a nice touch though.”

Ron scratched his head. “If you had the mirror in there the whole time then how did the three of us manage to find it?” One look at Dumbledore’s expression cut him off. “Never mind. Should I tell Harry?” he asked finally.

Dumbledore sighed, looking thoughtful. “You could I suppose but it wouldn’t serve much purpose at the moment. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Harry seeks out adventure like a fly to rot and I doubt that telling him is going to change his behaviour much. Nonetheless that decision is up to you. But I would prefer it if you kept this between us for now. Harry needs to learn to trust and I don’t want him jumping at shadows.”

Ron nodded looking grim. “Why me then, why tell me? Why not Hermione?”

The headmaster adjusted his glasses, to look at Ron better. “Miss Granger is not nearly as responsible as she claims, she seeks out danger almost as much as Harry himself. I need you because you are constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly scared of what might happen. It’s quite obvious how you survived that blow in the chess game. Always be afraid, the true Gryffindor motto if ever I heard one.”

Ron sighed, realising where this was going. “You’re telling me to watch out for Harry?”

Dumbledore shook his head abruptly. “Goodness no, I don’t need to tell you to watch him, you would do that without my telling you anything. I’m merely telling you what you need to watch out for.”

“Ron?” came Harry’s voice from the entrance to the common room, followed by Harry himself who was groggily rubbing sleep out of his eyes and squinting at the light. “Why are you still awake, mate, we’re leaving tomorrow?”

Ron looked up panicked to notice that the figure in front of him was gone. Turning to Harry he tried a casual smile. “Just finishing up a game. I’ll be to bed soon. Besides I can sleep on the train.”

Harry shrugged. “Suit yourself. Were you playing with someone? I heard you talking.”

Ron shook his head. “No, just talking to myself. Nothing to worry about.”

Harry looked sceptical but didn’t push. “Alright then. Enjoy that,” he said, before turning back to the boy’s dorm.

“Harry,” Ron called out, stopping Harry in his tracks to look back over his shoulder. “You alright mate?”

Harry grimaced. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished.  
> So all of this may still seem pretty confusing but good job on making it this far.  
> I've taken a lot of liberties with the HP world, some obvious and some less so. I plan to write the other six books, all following the same trend I've shown here.   
> If you're interested on knowing what these changes are I intend to make a large author's note at the end of the first chapter in the second book detailing the changes that I've made which won't affect my overarching story.  
> Anyways yeah, thanks for reading and enjoy.  
> I don't own Harry Potter or anything like that.


End file.
